


Marked and Hunted

by theisraelproject107



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-11 23:36:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 124,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4456850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theisraelproject107/pseuds/theisraelproject107
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Driven from his home, Demyx finds himself in a world that hates him. Friends are few, enemies falling over themselves to hurt him, and all he really wants is to show them all he's not the monster they've been told.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Square rocks. I do not. It’s like… making a play with someone else’s marionettes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Square rocks. I do not. It’s like… making a play with someone else’s marionettes.
> 
> Also, please forgive the clash of chapter titles at the start of each chapter - and note to self: don't do prologues anymore, it throws the whole count off OTL

PROLOGUE

Anarchy: the debate was based on whether or not such a thing could ever possibly exist. The utter destruction of society’s structured walls, the tumbled status quo giving way to an endless wave of red-eyed rats swarming mindlessly from the ruins. Everyone for themselves, rules and laws burning like witches at stakes: the loss of mass sanity.

Humans would always seek guidance, though – even after the apocalypse, there would be gangs, groups, minor hierarchies dotted throughout the survivors. Those that chose anarchy would inevitably perish alone, shunned by the natural, unbreakable laws of order, which held no time or concern for the idle fancies of man.

Of course, before said perishing, those possessing minds corrupted by anarchy would wander, and any who fall in their broken path would be destroyed. There was no light in their eyes, except for that born from external sources. They became like the undead: mindless hunters.

There could be no salvation for, or from, their kind.

Such was the train of terrified thought racing through Demyx’s head as he ran. Cannibalism was on the rise – this was all he knew to spur his exhausted self on – _cannibalism was on the rise._ Such a pretty face, Dem – don’t let it fall to rotting teeth.

Night was when the crazies were at their most numerous. Instincts cracked but senses terrifyingly acute, these broken beings prowled as lone units or occasionally symbiotic pairs. Day was no better – looters roamed during the sunlit hours, littering the streets with bodies, survival of the fittest having turned into some awful, bloody battle royale. This was where the taste for flesh had sprung into being for the ‘zombies’, as Demyx had heard them dubbed. Left to their own fumbling devices, they all may well have starved to death, eventually, but the buffet had been laid, and now they had developed a taste for it.

Zombies, militant killers roaming freely – fuck. Life wasn’t supposed to be like this. Perhaps true anarchy _couldn’t_ exist, maybe it _was_ just an abstract notion, but society was still seeing how far it could push breaking point til it admitted defeat. Right now, there was no end in sight to the ruin that Demyx’s world had become.

He survived on a day-to-day basis, scavenging what he could, making sure never to stay in any one place too long. He existed alone; everyone he’d known or cared about had died a couple days previously, on the other side of the country, when the first of the madness had exploded. No one in the immediate area had been willing to take on a lone wanderer – ruthless paranoia ran rampant. You couldn’t know the difference between who was genuinely in need or who was part of one of the newly hatched looters’ cartels until it was too late. People had broken down into their family units, protecting only who they needed to – those, that is, who had managed to make it thus far.

In Demyx’s mind, anxious for a way to make sense of the nonsensical, it had become like a board game. Everyone had their own piece, each individual and every group, and they were all taking part whether they wanted to or not in a race to the end. The thing was, one by one… they were losing. Pieces were removed from the board like a whole Monopoly set being thrown across the room, a vicious culling that occurred with every breath being drawn.

Demyx wasn’t interested in the board game anymore. Before, it had been all that there was, the big, shiny prize at the end being stability, safety, some kind of fabled place where the nice, normal, frightened people could convene and find a way to make this all go away. Rumours had spread like wildfire of somewhere they could achieve this, a resistance taking place for those that were still strong enough to try and regather the torn apart threads of their society and find a way to rein it back in. It was the promise of a slow restoration, a hope of sanity returned, and the determination to not be crushed by the violent circumstances that had befallen them. Perhaps _this_ was why anarchy would never properly take hold – there would always be some hero with a sword and a sidekick ready to save the world. Anarchy could only exist within them _all._

Demyx’s eyes, however, were fixed on a different prize these days.

More rumours had emerged, these ones whispered with less certainty, an air of incredulity, of fearful wondering. They promised a place where the madness had yet to reach, where stability reigned and the world’s psychotic claws didn’t relentlessly scrabble. Squatting on a step in water-weak sunlight, Demyx had listened two days ago to a man relate this fairy-story of something called ‘the border’ to him. From what the guy said, it sounded like the portal to another _dimension_. Demyx didn’t know how that was meant to work, but whatever, right? He could believe in other dimensions if it meant leaving behind the reality he knew.

The blond’s eyes had brightened, his spirit lifting with desperate, painful hope. It was the end of the world, or something like it – so why couldn’t a portal to another dimension exist as well? Of course, before scurrying back to his bolt-hole, the guy had followed the tale up with an uneasy dismissal of its verity. Nothing that convenient could possibly exist. And even if it did – it would find a way to lead to some fresh hell, he was sure. It was frightening how deeply fatalism had gripped the hearts of those Demyx had encountered so far. No one _really_ believed they were going to win the game – they all _knew_ their pieces were about to be plucked off and thrown away. The only reason they kept going was, well, because – what else was there?

Demyx felt it, just like everyone else did – the panic. It took root in the hollow of the chest, engorging and festering, whispering incessantly that _Demyx wasn’t special enough to survive this._ When the reality of the survival numbers was so drastically low, it was only sheer luck and fitness keeping any of them continuing. The fear was like endlessly dripping acid, and he didn’t want to feel that anymore. He didn’t want to wait for his life to be snuffed out by statistical insistence. He knew – _knew_ he wasn’t strong enough to come through this alive and okay. He would be one of the corpses, one way or another, and the resurfacing of society would belong to those that walked over his bones.

He just – he wasn’t brave enough to stay here. If they wanted someone who could stand up and fight to regain this world, Demyx wasn’t the guy. He wished those that would well, and went on in search of greener pastures – somewhere you didn’t have to feel the dread eating at your insides every time you paused to inhale. Demyx didn’t want to be a hero. He was just a goddamn musician looking for a break. And now, he was on a mission. He would find the border, and he was getting the hell out of dodge.

The closer he got to his goal, the emptier the streets became. The loneliness of the area was unnerving. As he’d progressed through the city the last couple nights, always skirting around the edges, he’d noticed the faint human presence becoming thinner. It’s not like there were people all over the place to begin with, but it was like – the air was warmer where he’d been, and colder where he was headed. This end of the city felt distinctly deserted, empty cars lining the streets, buildings turned to skeletons in the wake of having been pillaged and torched. He moved quickly, lightly, sneakers barely making a sound against the sidewalk as he scurried from one pool of shadow to the next, the moon a curse determined to light his every step for all the twisted creatures of the world to see. God, he hoped this worked out, and he didn’t end up eaten in some industrial back alley. He didn’t even know what he was looking for, but anything had to be better than all this, right? He knew this was a dumb idea, but… anything was worth trying. Anything was better than having nowhere to go, and just waiting to die.

As he moved, Demyx did his best to ignore the hollow grizzling of his stomach. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d sat down for a proper meal, or stopped for a shower. He missed hot water like it was the soulmate he’d never realised was right in front of him all along. He wondered if they had hot showers at the fabled border. And food. Like, a gigantic steak. With some fries.

Oh, man, he was hungry.

One thing that was weird: Demyx noticed a weird emptiness developing the further along he went, an edge to the air that grew gradually more palpable. It felt… slick against his skin, a slight oiliness that rolled through his lungs. And then, eventually, it started relaying the faint scent of carrion. As this new detail hit his senses, Demyx tensed, pulling a face, and slowed slightly as he tried to figure out which direction it was coming from. He turned in a circle, peering through the gloom, trying to ignore just how damn _silent_ everything was. He couldn’t get used to it; the world was never meant to be this quiet. Now, it was quiet all the time.

At least the immediate hush meant that there was nobody _bad_ around, he dubiously guessed. It kind of unnerved him that he seemed to be the only one pursuing this path to freedom, though. Sure, ‘the border’ was a crazy idea, and sounded ridiculous in a normal setting, but – was he really the only one believing that an escape route might be possible? When he’d heard about it, he’d been sure that there would virtually be a waiting list to get to this side of the city – who _cared_ if it turned out to be a lie? It was an option, right? And yet – the road to possible salvation remained deserted. Not even the flesh-eaters resided around here, drawn to more populated areas, piles of bones left in their wake.

After a couple of minutes, Demyx got moving again, unable to pinpoint the source of the death stench. Honestly, he really didn’t _want_ to. He’d avoided seeing an… _eaten_ body so far, and he kind of wanted that to continue. It might have just been an innocent victim of looters, fly-ridden where the blood had crusted across their slit throat, but… Demyx wasn’t taking any chances. He didn’t need that burnt into his brain. He had enough nightmare material to last a lifetime.

He was getting closer now, he was sure of it. There was a definite change in the quality of the wind, although the stench only increased, riding it, taking it into his mouth to form an oily coating that holy _shit, tasted like death._ Demyx gagged, covering his mouth and nose, halting again. His eyes widened as he wondered, with a spike of panic, what the heck was going on. Was there some kind of zombie nest nearby?

Oh, _shit_. Were they – were they collecting corpses and bringing them here to feed? Maybe _this_ was why there weren’t any others making the pilgrimage to the border – maybe they were all already dead! Or, _wait –_ what if it was the _zombie-people-eaters_ spreading the rumours about the border, to _get_ people to come, so they could _eat them?_

…No, wait, they couldn’t even form coherent sentences. They couldn’t _think_ anymore. Demyx had heard stories of them, news had travelled fast, and he’d even encountered one himself, briefly. They – didn’t have hearts anymore. They were shattered – as a result, there’d be no plans for world domination from _that_ side of the fence. Not that there was much left of the world now, anyway.

So, what then? _Where was it coming from?_

As Demyx’s blue eyes darted around, desperately seeking, against better judgement, the source of the horrific odour – he suddenly paused. Hand still clamped tightly over his nose and mouth, the blond lifted his gaze hesitantly to the sky, where something was – oddly amiss. He spent a long, puzzled minute staring, before he realised: the moon… had a reflection. He twisted, looked up at where the moon was _supposed_ to be, and, yep, there it was – then he turned back, and stared up at its mirror image, shimmering slightly in the black sky. And even that, even the sky itself – it looked different somehow. It was like a glossy film had been drawn across the world, maybe half a mile away. And it was… it was reflecting the moon.

There were a whole bunch of buildings in the way, though. He needed a clearer look. Heartbeat quickening, throbbing at his throat, Demyx went in search of an intersection. The city was laid out like a massive grid – if he could find a gap where the horizontal streets interlocked with the vertical, then…

He spotted one in the distance, and made a run for it. Shoes scraping, he bounced into the middle of the intersection, and stood with one arm hooked over his lower face to filter each rancid breath, studying the horizon solemnly past the thick material of his sleeve. A quiet, ominous awe slowly filled him.

That was… definitely a border. Of some kind.

It shone like a bubble against a deeply black background, a knife slice cutting a perfect line across the city. It was different to regular darkness. It swallowed up everything beyond it. If you just glanced at it, you’d never notice, because it reflected the city so convincingly – but that sky was not a night-time pitch. It was very definitely unnatural, and no matter how Demyx craned his neck, he could see no end to it. It just – spanned on forever. Obviously, it had to end _some_ where, but from here, he couldn’t see where. There was a good chance it was covering the length of the entire city, and an even better chance that it was the reason this place was deserted… but – the _stench._ There _had_ been people here, at some point – and now they were decomposing somewhere. Nearby. It… smelled like an en masse kind of thing. The black bubble in the sky… was it the cause of this? The source?

Was _this_ the end of Demyx’s rainbow? It didn’t look very… pot-of-gold-y. In fact, it was downright scary. And yet – Demyx didn’t think he could turn back. Now that he was here, there was no way in _hell_ he was scuttling off – not unless things got _really_ scary.

He took an instinctively deep breath, grimacing as, even through the sleeve, he could taste the putridity of the air. He lifted the collar of his baggy sweater, hooked it over his nose, virtually useless but an effort nonetheless. Psychologically, it made Demyx feel better. Kind of. Or… not. Either way, he was doing this. He shook his hands nervously by his sides, eyeing the darkness warily, then started walking.

Gradually, he moved up to a jog. The black veil became a wall, shining like a body of water, the blond’s feet taking him inexorably toward it. Never the bravest guy to begin with, Demyx’s fear was powerful – but his curiosity, and the sick knowledge that there _were_ no other options, was enough to keep him from turning back. His heart was pounding with the certainty that this was precisely what the rumours had been about. Demyx didn’t really get what was meant to be so great about a big black something-or-other, but there was only one way to find out what it all meant. Besides which – he’d never seen something like this in his _life._ Where had it sprung from, and _why?_ Had it been caused by the mass loss of sanity? Had it _caused_ it? Was this – some kind of _magic,_ or what?

The problem was, the closer he got, the more intense the stench grew. At last, he could go no further – it was too strong, like a billowing wave. He dithered, unsure of what to do next. He was finally here, close enough to see the darkness undulating, but at the same time he was terrified. The smell, it was coming directly from the wall. It stretched high into the sky, seemed the merge with it, so that Demyx couldn’t even tell where it finished and the stars began. He didn’t know what to do. This black reflection, it was – some kind of hell substitute. It was housing more death than this world could possibly dream up, a living nightmare, and all of this just in olfactory form.

_But damn it, he’d come all this way!_

Despair rose, clutched him, made his shoulders sag, because he was finally here, and he didn’t think he could take the final step. He couldn’t move close enough to even touch the barrier, because he was frightened of what he would become if he did. It reeked of decomposition, and the blond wasn’t eager to get in on that.

Obviously, something had gone terribly wrong. This – this _thing_ had appeared, and the world had gone mad. Were there others like it? Had everyone been wrong about the ‘zombies’, and this blackness was in actual fact spawning them?

There came a low scrape from somewhere behind Demyx, the blood freezing in his veins. He stood stock-still, eyes wide, staring into the shimmering darkness. Slowly – very, very slowly – he turned around. He’d have given his left testicle for a flashlight, but could only blink blindly into the gloom, wondering what was out there. He heard another sound, a clatter this time, like someone had walked into a trash can, and his every nerve went tight enough to snap. The sound had come from around the corner of the building Demyx was next to, an alleyway he’d passed a few feet along. If – if anyone had been down it, they would have seen him, would have heard his footsteps, and his panting breaths.

He heard the staggering slap of footsteps, and started groping at his stomach, eyes fixed on the darkness, feeling at the pouch at the front of his sweater and grabbing the handle of the steak knife he’d been carrying since everything had first lost control. He jerked it out, shaking badly, not knowing what to do. He – he wasn’t a fighter. He ran – always, he ran. He’d been running since his first middle-school bully.

There was another clatter, then, steadily, a shadow stepped from the alleyway. The moon’s reflection bouncing from the veil lit the newcomer up, just as it illuminated the blade of his knife for them to easily see. The person turned towards him – and oh, fucking god damn shit, it was a zombie.

_Cannibalism._

Demyx shuddered, whimpered, fingers tightening around the quivering knife. He heard a low, grating noise come from the throat of the dead-eyed man, the creature taking a step towards him. Demyx shook so hard, the knife slipped from his sweaty hands and fell to the ground.

He ran.

He heard the zombie give a snarl and come after him, Demyx too terrified to even scream. Without thinking, he had turned on his heel when he’d started running, and, without thinking, he now sprinted straight into the black wall.

This time, he could have screamed, had there been any oxygen in his chest with which to do so. But the veil wrapped around him, swallowed him, entered his lungs, eyes, muscles, bones, wormed deep into his soul and tore it apart. He felt it, _heard_ the rip, heart nearly stopping from the shock before it was all abruptly put back together again.

When he opened his eyes, a bare second later that also might have been a million years, he was standing on grass, blinded by a light so bright it could have been the sun. The rotting stench that he had thought to be bad a moment ago was now powerful enough to wrap fingers around the meagre contents of his stomach and wrench them out. Demyx bent, coughed vomitously, a screaming horror setting up shop within his skull. This was a putrescence he would never forget – not ever. Forever onward, Demyx would smell death and be violently ill.

Squinting through the brightness, raising an arm to shield his eyes, Demyx tried to discern his surroundings, disorientated and nauseous. Instead of the city, he found himself in a curiously empty space – a field, it looked like. And the brilliant light – it wasn’t just one light, but a row of them, spotlights set up in a long line, the night beyond them deep.

Then, Demyx turned to his right, saw that he was three feet from a pile of corpses, and shrieked hysterically. He got three steps to the left before a gunshot split the air, the bullet pelting the ground near Demyx’s feet. The blond froze, swaying slightly from leftover momentum. Eyes wide, heaving in the putrid air, Demyx stared into the blinding light until, a little distance away, a silhouette appeared in front of one of the spotlights. Demyx could make out an glimpse of red hair, before a megaphone crackled to life and a dry voice drawled out, “Hold it right there, zombie piece of shit. Your ass is grass.” Demyx did exactly as he was told. He didn’t move a fucking hair, gasping frantically. “You got three seconds,” the man announced to Demyx’s stiff form, “to tell me what’s five times five.”

Demyx’s brain went blank, terror shorting out any form of coherent thought. _You don’t stand next to dead bodies, near people with guns, and start reciting times tables._ It just didn’t _happen_ that way. He panicked, heard a grunt from the megaphone before it clicked off a moment later. Suddenly realising that his three seconds were up, Demyx screamed, _“Twenty!”_ There was a pause, in which he wasn’t shot dead. A second later, he shrieked, _“No, wait, twenty-five!”_ He was gonna die, because he was shit at mental maths, just like all these others apparently had – zombies, incapable of uttering anything more than a guttural moan; and maybe – others like him? Who couldn’t think in time?

The megaphone hissed back to life, the voice returning, sounding almost – _amused._ “Well, I’ll be damned – you’ve still got a fuckin’ mind. Impressive. Welcome to Midgar, you crazy fucking psycho-worlder.” He lowered the megaphone and raised his voice, while Demyx struggled to come to terms with his continued existence and outrage at the easy tone in the man’s voice. His next words quickly stripped the blond of his brief burst of relief: “Tranquies, open fire.”

Gunshots, despite his efforts. Demyx howled, felt a sharp, piercing pain –

Seconds later, he was gone.

.o.O.o.

Twenty-seven days later, Demyx was sitting in a small, white-walled room, on a cold, hard, metal chair.

With his elbows on the table, he moved a thumb slowly across his palm, eyes fixed blankly ahead. His mind was quiet, a calm, gentle resignation filling his being. Today was the day. He felt like a dangerous criminal being released on parole; for all he knew, that was precisely how everyone viewed him. He certainly wasn’t the same person who had stepped through the black veil nearly a month ago, into ShinRa’s grasp.

Demyx blew out a sigh, placing his hands on the metal, quickly drumming out a beat on the chilled surface, eyes darting around the familiar space. He’d spent a lot of time in this room – too many hours, with too many frustrated tears resentfully wiped away. It had memories adhering to the walls, the little doctor’s voice whispering at him even in the loneliness like this.

It had been… such a long time since he’d felt normal. He couldn’t really remember what that was like anymore. Not while he was here, wearing white hospital pajamas with an identification strap around his left wrist. One thing that Demyx had discovered in the last twenty-seven days was that maximum-security mental wards sucked like little else. Every now and then, cold, creepy laughter echoed down the halls – and that was from Doctor Hojo, the physician in charge of his case. That man gave him the unholy heebie-jeebies.

Demyx been waiting for him for nearly thirty minutes, shifting restlessly from side to side and sighing. He rested his chin on the table glumly, but couldn’t help the flutter of excitement in his belly at the realisation that this was probably the last time he’d have to be here at _all._ The agony he’d suffered over the last week, the aching in his left arm, hand and shoulder, was proof that he was nearly out. He was determined, dedicated, and – and everyone agreed now – quite, quite sane enough to mingle with regular society.

With this thought came a tingle of nervousness, anxiety dampening the stirring of anticipation. He had no idea what to expect, no clue what was coming. There was a little hope in his gut that refused to die down, but it was surrounded on all sides by apprehension. He just – he wouldn’t feel right again until he was out of here.

For twenty-seven days, he had been incarcerated, trying to prove that just because he came from a world suddenly infested by cannibals didn’t mean that he was going to go out and start chomping on people. His world, which he’d thought was the only world that existed, had been recently connected to a much broader network… only to prove itself to be beyond hope. The connection had been severed three days after Demyx’s arrival – if he’d delayed, he might not have made it. Facing the thought of entering an entirely new society was – frightening to him. But not nearly as frightening as the thought of what might have happened if he’d been stuck in his own world. They’d told him – they’d told him that his world’s heart had been sealed. If he’d remained there, he’d most likely be dead by now.

Suddenly, the little white room didn’t seem so bad anymore. It kept happening like this – he swung with great regularity between bouts of depression at the knowledge he had gained, and wild, heady almost-exhilaration at the fact that he had escaped. The path from his home-world to this one had been open for one week only, before ShinRa, in charge of military and world development, had shut it down. The rumour Demyx had heard about ‘the border’ was a watered-down version of ShinRa’s own people coming through and attempting to make contact, welcoming a new world to the chain that already existed. Demyx silently, fervently thanked the man who had felt the urge to pass the story on, hoping that his death, when it came, would be quick, painless, and preferably non-edible.

At last, the heavy, steel door swung open, startling the blond out of his thoughts. He bit back a scowl as Hojo entered, a placid look on the doctor’s face, ponytail hanging limply down his back. He approached Demyx, eyes glittering over his glasses, then stopped and simply stared, studying him. Demyx wanted to glare in return, but didn’t dare to in case they decided it was an act of aggression and decided to keep him in longer.

“Well, Demyx,” Hojo said after the pause, his cold voice filling the tight space. “It would seem that this is to be our last meeting while you are an inpatient. Of course, I’ll be seeing you regularly, checking up on your progress, etcetera, but from this moment on…” He smiled thinly. “You are no longer within my care.” He reached out a hand, Demyx staring at it for a couple beats before realising he was supposed to shake it. He didn’t want to – it made his toes curl a little – but he forced himself to take the appendage and quickly squeeze. Hojo’s hands were always so damn _cold._ Cold and dry – they’d always felt like some kind of reptile probing him, during the physical evaluations Demyx had had to endure. As the doctor released him, Demyx fought the urge to wipe his fingers against his pants. The narrow curving of lips never fading, Hojo added, “I’ll leave you now, to get acquainted with your new – _mentor,_ I do believe they’re calling them.”

Demyx released a low breath as the little man, black shoes thudding against the thin, grey carpet, went over to the door, stuck his head out, and called, “Sir Auron?”

There was no response, but a man appeared a moment later, looming in the doorway. He was tall, greying, and scarred from here to Sunday. Demyx gulped at the sight of him. He hadn’t thought that someone more intimidating than Hojo existed, yet here he was, wearing the most forbidding expression the blond had ever in his nineteen years laid eyes on. The dude wore a dragon-red robe, and sunglasses indoors. Bizarre.

Ignoring the scrutiny taking place, the man directed his attention to Hojo, saying flatly, “I’ll take care of things from here.”

“Be _careful_ of him, Sir Auron,” Hojo cautioned, wagging a finger in his face. “We’re not yet entirely sure he won’t turn out to be some kind of danger.”

The man regarded him for a long, apathetic moment, before asking, “Then why are you letting him loose?”

Demyx sat up straight and spluttered, “I’m _not_ a danger! Not to anyone!”

Hojo, meanwhile, just rolled his eyes. “Apparently, chances must be taken. Civil rights to be observed, and other such-like things.”

“I see.” The man turned his gaze to Demyx, the blond shifting uncomfortably. Even with the glasses, the guy had one hell of a daunting stare. “Then, as you say,” he said quietly to the doctor, “I’ll be careful.”

Hojo nodded, turned on heel and left the room, the sound of his footsteps quickly fading. Demyx was left alone with the man, who spent a long moment looking at him. Demyx fidgeted, able to meet his gaze clearly for only a moment before glancing away.

“My name is Auron,” the man gruffly said, at long last. “I’ve been appointed your guardian.” He stepped closer to the table, taking a small bundle from under one arm that he placed down in front of the blond. “It’s my job to make sure you do well out there,” he continued in his measured, deep tone. “Together, we’ll find you somewhere to live, a way to make money, and some form of education.”

“Ed-education?” Demyx blinked. “I don’t – I never really wanted to go to college.”

The man shrugged. “They want to see what you know.” He indicated the bundle by the blond’s elbow. “Those are your clothes. Put them on. Once you’re ready, and have fixed your hair, we leave.”

“My…?” A hand pausing halfway to his head, the boy was confused. Realisation dawned with a growing sense of indignation. In four weeks, he had only been able to wash his hair twice, and the most he ever got for combing it was a quick few minutes in the morning. When he thought about the effort he usually put into his hair, it was almost appalling how far he’d fallen from who he’d once been. A sort of – sort of _stubbornness_ filled him in that moment, a quiet determination that suddenly didn’t want to be walking around like a victim anymore.

He met Auron’s gaze and nodded once, a frown in place. The man nodded back minutely, and left the room to allow Demyx to get changed. The clothes were plain, but still managed to feel – different, bearing the foreign mark of a different world. There was no comb, no water, and sure as hell nothing for gelling, but Dem did his best, running his fingers through the mass of blond, straightening it at the back, spiking it as much as possible at the front, attempting to bring his favourite style back into play. He didn’t really get it right, there weren’t the right materials at hand to get it back to its truly _awesome_ state, but it was a start _._ No dude in a ratty robe was going to tell him to fix his hair – never again.

With this, Demyx was ready. He was cold, because the shirt was sleeveless, but he was physically prepared, and maybe even just a little bit mentally, for whatever new start at life these people were offering. They’d had discussions, suggested scenarios, but the musician hadn’t been expecting for things to fall into place this quickly – he’d had visions of Hojo, Hojo and more Hojo for the months to come, while they systematically tore him to pieces in search of some urge that would have him trying to destroy a class of kindergarten kids with his teeth and a home-made Molotov.

The blond took a breath, smoothed himself down, the ID bracelet fused around his wrist catching his attention.  He hesitated. He wondered if he would ever be able to forget that he was from a world that was now officially known as ‘insane’. He grimaced, lifted his left arm, gaze moving slowly down the smooth, black-and-white skin – covered in tattoos he hadn’t had when this first started. No. He’d never be allowed to forget – no one would. He was marked now, and would be for the rest of his days. He could only hope that the people outside the hospital were as accommodating, if not slightly warmer in behaviour, as those he’d encountered within. That other doctor, Lucrecia – she’d been nice to him. Maybe, if there were people like her out there, this would all go okay. And hell, even if there wasn’t… “It’s better than a dead world,” he murmured to himself, “with a sealed-off heart…”

Sometimes, he felt a twinge of guilt at having left everyone else behind. But – it wasn’t as if he could have done anything except add to the body count. He was just one nineteen-year-old wannabe. And he had a big, scary-looking guy waiting for him outside the room, yet Demyx was suddenly more than happy to leave with him. Strangers with candy were a damn sight better than doctors with needles. His new life was calling.

He met Auron in the hallway, timid outside of his hospital pajamas, arms folding instinctively over his chest, hunching in a vague attempt to hide himself. The man looked him up and down, then said, “My car is in the parking lot.” Together, they went to get Demyx checked out of the mental ward, the ID band snapped from his wrist by a pair of sharp-nosed scissors.

Emerging into the new night was – wow. It was something else. It had been raining recently, Demyx heard it against his window the last few nights, and the road glittered with it under the streetlights. The rich smell of earth filled the air, the blond inhaling deeply, loving the sound of the sharp splashes underfoot. This was what freedom was like.

By the time they reached the car, however, Demyx was shivering. “I d-don’t suppose you’ve g-got a sweater I can borrow?” he asked softly of his silent companion. Auron, keys out and jangling, sent him a hard look.

“You know you wouldn’t be allowed to wear it even if I did,” he said, an edge to his tone. “I know the procedure with your kind – don’t try to fool me.”

Sighing, the boy shook his head. “I wasn’t. I forgot. It’s okay, I’ll be fine.”

The man was quiet as they climbed into the old car, the vehicle swaying first to one side, then the other as the extra weight was added. Their doors slammed shut. As the engine started up, Auron leaned across, turned on the heating, and twisted the vents to face Demyx’s chilled skin, ignoring the grateful thanks the teen returned.

“You’ll be staying at my place until we find you one of your own,” Auron said, wrenching at the gearstick. Demyx hesitated, nodded. Great. Living with some battered old guy. Sounded like fun. He swore, rules or no rules, if Auron tried to touch him inappropriately, he was going kung-fu on his ass. He’d seen enough karate movies in his day to be able to pull it off, he was confident.

Or, he might get thrown in front of a firing squad out of spite.

Demyx rested his head upon his frosted window, letting the warmth from the heater flow over him, and although he had planned to spend the care ride watching this new and foreign world go by, before they were even halfway to Auron’s apartment, the blond had fallen asleep.


	2. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

It was another one of those ‘today is the day’ things, only instead of feeling like he was _escaping_ a prison, it was more a sensation of being thrust into a new one.

Demyx woke up an hour before his alarm, sprawled in an awkward position in the bed of his new apartment. The day was only just beginning to dawn beyond the blinds obscuring the narrow window in the all-brick room. The place was like an ice-box, nothing _but_ bricks, and the blond could never get warm all the way unless he was absolutely padded with layers. Beneath two thick blankets he had on fleecy pants, a t-shirt, a sweater, a hoodie, _two_ pairs of socks on his feet with a further pair on his hands, and still, _still_ the cold crept through.

Rolling onto his side, bringing his sock-clad hands up to his mouth, Demyx gazed over at the blinds as he puffed warm breaths through the fabric, trying to waken his stiff fingers. It worked, but when the rest of him was still cold, it didn’t go a long way. Instead, he drew his knees up and curled into a ball under the blankets, finally finding some warmth, albeit at the cost of fresh oxygen. Stale air was okay, though – once he got up, he’d have to be cold again. He was gonna freeze out there today.

This sucked. Technically, he wasn’t allowed to be wearing all these layers even to bed, but Auron had pretty much put that idea down as stupid the second they stepped into the apartment and realised that Dem was gonna freeze his balls off each and every night. He wasn’t going to tell ShinRa on him.

Time passed. Eventually it got to the point where he had to move a little, or suffer suffocation. He reached an arm out of the toasty little bed-cocoon, and shut his alarm off before it could sound. He wasn’t going to need it today – he couldn’t have gone back to sleep no matter how hard he tried. Butterflies danced and crawled through his gut, fluttering sickeningly, making him shiver even without the cold. As the glowing number six on the clock became a seven, he closed his eyes. Time to get up.

Shoving off the blankets in one quick motion – wanting to avoid the agony of emerging bit by bit – Demyx sat, swinging his feet from the low-set mattress. Auron would be over in thirty minutes, which meant that he could keep his sweaters on for a little while longer, changing just before the man arrived. He stood, wrapping his arms around his chest, and tottered sleepily across the rug and onto the wooden floor. Even through the layers of sock, Demyx could feel the cold beneath his feet. Damn it, everything about this apartment was so fucking _chilly._

Out in the kitchenette, he got some water boiling for instant coffee. As it heated, Demyx crossed the small lounge room, the main area of the apartment, and opened up the blinds, letting some sunlight in to brighten his surroundings. Along with an old, olive-green sofa, the apartment had come with a little TV on a stand in the corner, a scratched black coffee table, and a fake potted plant. The wooden floor was scarred and scuffed, but gleamingly clean. Everything was pristine – Dem had had a lot of time on his hands lately. Since moving here, he’d found a new hobby in cleaning the hell out of everything within reach; it made the empty periods pass a little quicker.

Standing at the window, fiddling with the cord attached to the blinds, Demyx gazed out for a while at his view of the city. A busy thoroughfare ran past his building, a lot of heavy vehicles rumbling along in the grey morning since the industrial district was nearby. For the first three days of his tenancy, Demyx had barely slept a wink, kept awake at all hours by the rising sounds of traffic. He was starting to get used to it, though, he supposed. Eventually, it just became so much white noise in the background.

 

Fists on hips, Demyx gazed out for a while, not noticing when the kettle switched off, undulating ribbon of steam rising towards the ceiling. He sucked idly at his lips, that fear rising nervously again in the pit of his stomach. He was no pushover – he just didn’t like confrontation. He’d rather flee than face the animosity. And, while he didn’t know precisely what this whole venture was going to reveal, he _knew,_ gut-certain, that confrontation was going to be the word of the day. He’d need a lot of caffeine to deal with that.

So badly did he lose track of the minutes, that the knock came before he had a chance to anticipate it. He yelped, cursed audibly, started ripping at his socked hands, grabbed the hood of the first sweater and started yanking as he staggered over towards the door. Muffled, he yelled, “Just a minute!” The second sweater came with the first, fingers wrapping around the thick hem of both and wrenching them from his body, exposing him to a shock of cold. His arms got caught halfway through, halting the stripping process abruptly. Woollen feet slipped on the shining floor, and he thudded headfirst into the wall. _“Fucking shit!”_ Sliding down to sit, panting, the blond stuck his heels into the twist of warm, fluffy material and shoved, tearing his forearms free, left in his t-shirt. This was the next to go, swiftly peeled away, the rumpled navy-blue wife-beater the only garment still clinging to his upper body. “Okay!” he called, to the patient knocker. Fingers ran through haphazardly strewn hair, a deep breath was pulled, and Demyx opened the door.

Auron eyed him, a dry expression in place. “Good morning, Demyx. Cold, I trust?”

“Fuckin’ freezing,” the blond assured, nodding rapidly. He stepped back, allowing his guardian to enter the tiny apartment. The man’s gaze fell on the pile of discarded clothing, Demyx noticing as he closed the door again. He fidgeted. While Auron advocated the use of long sleeves in bed, they had a strong ‘don’t-ask, don’t-tell’ policy for the rest of the apartment. Thus the dilemma – there was no one around that cared, but it didn’t change the fact that they both knew Dem was breaking some big-ass rules.

“Uh… Uhhh…” Nothing came to mind. Quick responses were not Demyx’s forte.

“If anyone in authority were to ask me why I found my charge with long-sleeved garments on his floor,” the older man said quietly, before the blond could attempt any weak sort of excuse, “I would tell them – he picked up the wrong laundry.”

Demyx grinned sheepishly, scratched the back of his head. “Uh – yeah, see, that’s what happened. Wrong laundry. _Bad_ laundry. It… it followed me home…” When Auron gave him a look, Demyx dropped his arm, rocked onto the balls of his feet, asked brightly, “So – d’you want some coffee?”

“How are you feeling?” Auron asked, cutting easily through the cheerful façade. Demyx wilted slightly, busied himself by bustling back across the apartment, into the kitchenette, re-boiling the water.

“I’m fine,” he said, faintly defensive, still maintaining the bubble of goodwill. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Before the man could respond, he was clanking a second mug noisily from the cupboard, clattering deliberately as he grabbed the jar of coffee granules up. “Are you still on that no-sugar diet, thing?” he demanded, determined to keep his previous question as rhetoric only. “I can give you sugar, if you still want some, no one will know.”

After a long pause, Auron approached, entered the kitchen. “No sugar.” He leaned against the counter.

“I got raw sugar, though,” the blond continued, in that same fixed-bright tone of voice. “No refined sugar, sure, but raw sugar’s okay!” Not glancing at his mentor, he lifted his head, eyes wide as he pulled open yet another cupboard. “Or, if that’s no good, I got you brown sugar, it’ll caramelise, and – ”

“Thank you,” Auron cut in. “Raw will be fine.” Demyx nodded, smiled, grabbed the bag down and scooped out a generous spoonful, dumping one into each cup, closely followed by the black-brown coffee, mixing the two colours together, continuing to stir as he slowly poured the hot water in. He finished the first, tapped the spoon on its edge, pushed it carefully towards the silent watcher, repeated the process with his own. “It’s hot,” he warned, as Auron made as if to drink.

“I’m cold,” the man murmured, the stinging heat negated by the many calluses on his palms and fingers, sipping at the steaming black liquid. He couldn’t help the small shudder that came, face twisting, single eye narrowing at the corners, the scar sealing the other shut rippling slightly. “How do you drink this?” he asked hoarsely, coughing and placing the mug gingerly down with an expression of disgust. “It’s revolting, Demyx.”

“Well, yeah,” the blond conceded happily, taking his own cup and whirling around to lean against the sink, nursing it in front of his chin. “But it’s coffee! All coffee is good!”

Auron shook his head, wondering at the logic of that sentence, bitter flavour coating his entire mouth. “Do you have everything sorted for today?”

“Sure,” Demyx said, voice taking on that strained quality again, as upbeat as ever with a heavy tautness he tried to mask. “Just gotta change into my jeans and take care of my hair, and I’ll be ready to go.”

“We’ll get a bagel from the donut place,” Auron sighed, massaging his forehead gently. “Aren’t you people meant to have a healthy breakfast in the mornings?”

Demyx laughed. “Which ‘you people’ are you talking about? ‘You people’ as in the crazy ones, or ‘you people’ as in the morning ones?”

“The latter,” the man grunted. Demyx shrugged, took a gulp of cooling coffee.

“I’m not really a morning person. I just don’t like to slouch around for long.”

Auron’s gaze drifted to the several bags of sugar Demyx had bought with the sole reason of being able to sweeten the guardian’s terrible coffee. “So, I take it you went grocery shopping without incident?”

The blond hesitated, shoulders hunching a little, the ceramic of the mug tapping quietly against his teeth. “Mostly,” he hedged. At Auron’s sudden glower, he hastily corrected, “I mean, sure, it was fine. Nothing noteworthy happened, anyway. I mean – it was, it was cool, Auron, it wasn’t a problem.”

The man’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “If anyone, _anyone,_ gives you a hard time, you need to – ”

“I know,” Demyx cut in, higher than usual. “I’ve got you’re cell number, all I have to do is call or text, right? But it wasn’t like that. It was just…” He fidgeted a little, uncomfortable. “Just – some looks, I guess. A few people said some stuff. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Auron gazed at him for a long moment, the blond carefully avoiding his good eye. “No one is allowed to hurt you,” he said at last, intently. “Just remember that, Demyx. No matter what they think they’re entitled to – you’re just as much a part of this society as anyone else. You aren’t to blame for what the others from your world are responsible for.”

A heaviness filled Demyx’s chest, some of the false cheer leaking away in favour of the weariness that always hovered in the background, born of ragged revelations, of nightmares. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I know. I’m not going to let anyone hurt me… I didn’t do anything wrong.” Still staring, Auron nodded slowly.

“Just as long as you’re aware.” He turned his wrist, the one tucked against his chest in its usual position. His right arm was in its sleeve today, a comment on the temperature. Demyx took note of it, sighed a little, feeling sorry for his own upper body. “We should get going if we’re going to get you something to eat first,” he noted. Demyx drew a shaking breath.

“I don’t know. I don’t – feel so hungry.”

Auron grunted. “You’re eating. I’m not letting you go today until you have something in your stomach.”

“Oh, good,” Demyx said, with a weak smile. “More fodder for when I blow chunks later on.” Auron let out a snort, stood from the counter and went to rinse out his mug. Demyx resignedly finished his coffee, placed his mug in the sink, left to change into jeans. In the solitude of his room, the door shut, fleecy pants stripped off, he had the luxury of a minor freak-out, standing shivering in his underwear in the middle of the floor, fingers twitching as they gripped their opposite biceps. His teeth chattered, not just from the cold, until he clamped them together, eyebrows drawing into a scowl. “I can do this,” he told himself, uncertainly. “It’ll be fine.”

Auron knocked. “No time to waste. Let’s go.”

 _Shit._ “Two minutes!” the blond called. He grabbed his jeans, tugged them up to rest at narrow hips, whipped a belt through the loops and cinched it. He grabbed a second wife-beater from the drawer, white, and slung it over the blue one to add a useless mental artifice of protection. He had a thick black-and-white striped armsock that he tugged up his right arm, long, from just beyond the elbow all the way down to his knuckles, the best kind of warmth that he could offer his unmarred flesh. The other would remain exposed, today, tomorrow, very possibly until they put him in his coffin in the ground. He exhaled slowly. At least, by then, he’d be used to it, he supposed.

He sat on the bed, tugged sneakers on over his layers of sock, laced them nimbly and stood once again. He turned, grabbed the cord of the blinds, flipped them open like those in the lounge room, greeted by a view of brick, brick and more brick. He clambered onto the mattress, wrenched the stiff window to the side to allow some of the marginally warmer outside air to enter, smelled the exhaust of the heavy Midgar traffic come billowing in on invisible wings.

Hopping off onto the rug, he pulled open the door, leapt like a gazelle across the hall to the bathroom before Auron could grab him, grabbing the water-spritzer, spraying his hair and quickly jerking a comb through, rubbing gel through the spikes at the top, a hand landing on his shoulder a moment later.

“Time to go,” Auron commanded, steering the teen forcefully by the back of the neck, out into the main room. He hooked up Demyx’s messenger bag from beside the couch, passed it to the blond, opened the front door, the boy meekly going through, clutching his bag to his chest. He slung the strap over his head, lying across his chest, the black bag bumping his blue-denim thigh with each step. The two males heading down the narrow hallway, opened the creaking door to the stairwell, descended the customary three flights, air growing steadily chillier. Demyx drew a deep breath, steeled himself for the weather – crisp, icy winds, endlessly blue skies, his nipples hardening to the point of just about freezing the fuck off… Hello, world.

Dem’s arms wound around his shoulders, thumbs brushing opposite sides of his neck, fighting down the shivers. Auron noticed, like he did most times, and the blond knew that some part of the older man felt sorry for him, but… there was nothing he could do. Demyx would just… have to get used to being cold. Trust his world-dying, zombie-dodging luck to come into Midgar smack in the middle of winter.

They emerged onto the busy sidewalk, traffic thrumming just a few feet away, people moving endlessly back and forth along the pavement, only a few of them pausing to stare at the sight of the shirtless boy and his guardian, the mottle of marks spreading from the blond’s shoulder down to his fingertips. Auron, carefully chosen for every aspect of the job, ignored those that looked, intercepted before Demyx could notice, got him walking. The blond – he smiled. He appreciated the effort. But – that whole ‘someone’s watching me’ feeling… the only time it dissipated was within the confines of what was now, occasionally with surprise, called home. He always felt the eyes.

Together, they made their way down the busy strip, stopping briefly at the donut shop on the corner for a bagel and another coffee, Auron abstaining even more firmly than he had in the apartment. He shook his head as they crossed the road at a red light, Demyx happily munching his breakfast despite his earlier claims, taking obvious enjoyment from the crap the blond obviously liked to call a caffeinated beverage. “You really like coffee that much, huh?” the man grunted. Demyx licked the crumbs from the corners of his mouth, smiled.

“Yep. Great stuff. Keeps your nerve-endings buzzing.”

“…I don’t think nerve-endings are _supposed_ to buzz,” Auron muttered. Demyx smirked, shrugged a little. The older man took his rubbish once he’d finished, tossed it into a trashcan as they passed, and Demyx was abruptly without distraction. He fiddled with the strap of his bag, anxiety increasing the longer they walked, his steps starting to shuffle a little. This wasn’t the first time they were making this trip, but it _would_ be the first time he’d be left alone in a crowd, not including the grocery store, since he’d arrived in Midgar seven weeks previously. The field in which the bubble lay was several miles from the outer edges of the throbbing city. He hadn’t seen it since that one night, but Hojo had made him relive that… experience… what felt like a thousand times over. The bodies, left to decompose at the uttermost edge, to draw the zombified humans into their world, their doom; the man with the megaphone, and his terrifying mathematical equation, the one Demyx still had nightmares about not being able to answer; the awful horror at being shot from several directions at once, falling to the grass with darts stabbed deep into his flesh…

Demyx shivered sharply, for once not a result of the temperature. Auron glanced over, frowned a little. For the two weeks after getting out of hospital, effectively labelled ‘not insane’, Demyx had slept in his bed, the man taking the sofa – making sure the blond wouldn’t sneak out while he was supposedly sleeping. The boy had had a lot of hideous dreams in that time, screams loud and anguished. There was a lifetime of horror trapped within his skull. The man recognised his expression, the one that spoke of memories better left carved free and discarded.

They made the twenty minute journey in silence, Auron subtly steering the blond away from the more menacing looks from their surrounding commuters. He poked Demyx in the ribs at one point, the boy looking startled for a moment, before rolling his eyes in exasperation at the mistake he was making. He pulled his left hand out of his pocket. No obscuring at all.

At last, after all the build-up, Dem’s butterflies becoming a flurry, they reached the gates of the local high school. Demyx halted, taking a deep breath. How long since he’d graduated…? Only a little more than a year, but to the people of Midgar, the ones in charge of him, this wasn’t enough – his claims of intelligence didn’t cut it. The numerous tests they’d performed didn’t suffice. They wanted proof, not only that he was capable of ingraining information, but that he could work in an environment of peers, without his guardian constantly keeping him in line. “Damn it,” the blond breathed. “This sucks.” He scowled. “I _know_ Hojo’s responsible for this.” It was just the kind of ‘experiment’ the creepy little guy would come up with. It was like being an animal observed in its natural environment. “Auron,” he whined, turning to the quiet man appealingly, “do I _really_ have to go back to school? You’ve hung around me, _you_ know I’m not stupid. Can’t you just _tell_ them?”

Auron shook his head, straightening his shoulders, resumed walking. Over his shoulder, he said, “We’ve had this discussion. And already ended it.” He passed into the grounds, among the scattering of early students, leaving Demyx to bring up the rear. The blond trailed after him, trying not to notice the stares he was getting. He squirmed internally, unhappy with the level of vulnerability he was being exposed to. Once Auron was gone… He drew a shaking breath, drew himself up to full height, strode forward to match his guardian’s step. Auron spared him a glance, and together they mounted the stone steps to the main building, the older man going first, holding the door for his charge. Demyx entered, swallowing, a small frown in place, the most determination he could muster. The halls were mostly empty for the moment, but the boy could easily imagine how it would be when they were filled to spilling, teenagers shifting through the school’s every orifice. He wondered how he’d go – wondered, briefly, how he’d survive. High school wasn’t exactly the softest, fluffiest place at the best of times. A thumb lifted to his lips, nail caught between teeth, chewing nervously, cupping the elbow with his opposite hand as he and Auron made their way to the main office for a short meeting with the headmaster before Demyx’s first class.

They reached it, paused outside the door, Auron’s single hazel eye inspecting the blond for a moment, before he pushed it open, the pair of them entering a medium-sized room with a water cooler in one corner, a potted palm in the other, and a strew of wooden chairs between them along the wall. There was a secretary at the long desk, drumming his fingers as he spoke rapidly into a cell-phone, eyes fixed to a computer screen through the gleaming lenses of reading glasses. The last sentence from his mouth, before letting the other person get a word in edgewise, was, “Dude, don’t make me set you on fire.” As his gaze flicked over when they entered, he suddenly stopped. A long moment passed, in which Auron and Demyx positioned themselves in front of the desk, the secretary’s eyes fixed upon the blond’s left arm. Demyx could hear a minute little voice, like a bug caught inside the cell, seeking the man’s attention. The man, his long red hair caught back into a messy ponytail, said, “I’ll… call you back, Marly.” He cut the call with a thumb.

Demyx was staring, heart twisting, dizzy all of a sudden. Before the man could address them, he asked, voice choked, “What’s five times five?”

Green eyes widened, wary, before confusion entered their depths. The guy, pushing back a little from the desk, freeing his legs, said, “Uh, what?”

Demyx was hugging himself, muscles stiff, head lowered a little. He was having trouble drawing breaths. “I don’t feel so good, Auron,” he said, voice whispery. “I – can we try this some other time? I don’t think…”

A heavy hand settled on his bare shoulder, making him flinch, but the blond didn’t pull away. Auron gave the secretary a steady look. “Is there somewhere we can get Demyx a drink?” he asked bluntly. “Unless you want to be cleaning puke off your carpets.”

“No, shit, man, I can handle getting a glass of water for the – ” His voice cut off abruptly, the redhead rising onto lanky legs, going to the water cooler in the corner, filling a little plastic cup and bringing it over. The suspicion was more pronounced this time; he held the drink out from a distance, Auron shooting him a withering look before snatching the cup, steering Demyx over to the wooden waiting chairs, sitting him down. The older man crouched, pushed the cup into the blond’s hands, urged, “Drink. It’ll pass.”

Demyx’s hands were trembling. He brought the plastic to his lips, slurped noisily at the water, coughed weakly as it hit the back of his throat. The secretary, watching on cautiously, demanded, “Is he okay? Is he gonna hurl?” There was a long pause, in which Auron didn’t dignify him with an answer. Letting out a sharp sigh, the redhead went back around to the office phone, lifted the handset and punched a number. “Yeah, sir? He’s out here, that – kid you said about? Yeah. Okay.” He hung up, watched the pair uneasily, shifting from foot to foot. He reached up, scratched his head. “Um… the headmaster says you’re good to go on in, if you’re ready…” When Auron glanced around, he added, “He’s been waiting for you.”

The guardian nodded curtly, turned back to Demyx. “Are you alright?” he asked in low tones. The blond shook his head sharply.

“I wanna go home,” he mumbled. Auron released a slow breath through his nose. He patted the boy’s leg briefly.

“I know.” He stood, plucked the now-empty cup from the blond’s clutching fingers, tossing it in the trash. “Come on.” Rubbing his forehead, Demyx stood, not looking over at the secretary, keeping his face averted. “You can do this,” the guardian added. The teen nodded, to make him stop talking, running fingers up and down the soft skin of his left arm. The redhead studied them, sitting back down slowly, as Auron rapped a knuckle against the mottled glass of the only other door in the room. A moment later, he opened it, the two of them entering a much smaller office, bearing a plant twin to the one in the waiting room. A man with long white hair sat behind the humble desk against the back wall, the light from the open window spilling over it. His golden eyes regarded Demyx cautiously. “Please, gentlemen, take a seat.” The blond kept his head down, sitting quickly, staring at the messenger bag on his lap, scraping a fingernail over the black perforations of the stiff material. For a moment, no one spoke, the rough scratching the only noise in the room.

“Well, now – Demyx.” The blond glanced up a little, grimacing slightly. The man smiled, the expression not quite reaching his eyes. “I’m sure you understand what an undertaking this is, for both you and us – there is a lot of responsibility on your shoulders upon entering this school. It was a large decision for us to accept you, in the face of the – general opinion of your kind.”

“Demyx’s kind,” Auron cut in softly, the slightest lacing of steel in his words, “is humanity. Please remember, Mr. Ansem. There’s no need for those of us in authority to alienate Demyx any further than he already has been, or will be.”

“Ah, forgive me! I haven’t even introduced myself properly.” The fair-haired man leaned forward, hand extended. “I am _Professor_ Ansem, headmaster of Midgar High, which, despite its somewhat pedestrian name, is quite a distinguished place of learning, as I’m sure both of you will find.” Auron reached out, met his palm with a quick, firm shake. Demyx sighed, did the same.

“We, of course, met on the phone just last week,” Ansem said, nodding to Auron. He turned his golden gaze to Demyx. “But it would be nice to hear a little from you, Demyx – your thoughts and feelings on this matter.”

The blond was caught off guard. “Uh – I’m… happy to be here?” The man chuckled, hands folding together, goateed chin tucking in towards his neck.

“A student actually pleased to be within the confines of school? Well – at least you’re making an effort. That’s encouraging.” He eyed the gangly teen, who lowered his blue-green gaze carefully, sliced them to one side, uncomfortable with the scrutiny, uneasy with eye-contact.

“Demyx is determined to make good his life here,” Auron said, into the silence. “He deserves every chance that others get. I hope you’ll understand this, and prevent the fear-mongering and prejudice from overtly harming him.” His voice was deadly serious, his stare vaguely unnerving when used in such intensity. “It’s up to you, and your colleagues, to protect him when he’s out of my care like this.”

Ansem nodded thoughtfully, asked, “Again, what say you, Demyx, of this warning your guardian has imparted? Do you believe you’ll be in need of protection? Or do you think you’ll be capable of fending for yourself?”

Demyx’s eyes darted about the room, legs crossing awkwardly. “I – uh – I’m sure I’ll be okay. I mean… I haven’t had a lot of trouble so far.”

Ansem smiled. “That’s good to hear. But, remember – ” He leaned forward, fingers lacing together, the white elbows of his no-doubt expensive suit pressing to the dark wood of the desk. His expression grew grim. “I have been well-informed about the restrictions surrounding your liberated life in Midgar. Doctor Hojo and I have discussed at length the circumstances surrounding you, Demyx, and while he has assured me that you seem quite sound of mind, I must remind you of the absolute, unconditional ban on violence. Any aggression from you, for any reason – provoked or not – and I will have to remove you from the student body.”

The blond blushed, a slight heating across the bridge of his nose. “Yes, sir. I understand. Don’t worry, I’m – not an aggressive sort of person.” His index finger rubbed small circles on his left arm, following the black patterns that swirled. Auron, impatient with the drawn-out quality of the warnings, asked, “Is Demyx going to be allowed his class schedule, now? It would be wiser for him to be to first period before most others – he has a better chance of peaceful assimilation if the other students view him as already instated.” The corners of Ansem’s mouth turned down slightly. Auron looked at him from under his brow, a heated focus to his eye. “Demyx is a student here, now. Any qualms you may have remaining, take up with Hojo. He’s the one with the notes on his psychological state, which I’m pretty sure the two of you will have already discussed at length, if you’re any kind of headmaster.” He checked his watch. “I have places to be. Is Demyx getting his schedule, or do I have to take this up with someone in Human Rights?”

Ansem sighed, opened a drawer and drew out several sheets of paper. He gave Demyx a patient smile. “Forgive my rudeness. It’s necessary I take care of my students. I do not mean to put you in an awkward position, Demyx.”

“No problem,” the boy said quietly. He took the proffered sheets, glanced at the gibberish that stated where and when he had to be at various rooms.

“Show that to Axel at the front desk,” the headmaster advised with a nod. “He can walk you to your first class.”

“Thank you,” Auron said curtly, already standing. “Demyx, let’s go.”

They left the man sitting pensively behind his desk, Auron closing the door slightly harder than necessary. At the desk, the red-haired guy was back on his cell, typing with one hand. Frustration flashed through his gaze as the two again stood in front of him expectantly. He sighed, said, “Yes to the extra gunpowder, no to the live display. No, Marluxia! I have to go, now, talk to you later.” He hung up for a second time, shot Demyx a sharp glance, asked of Auron, “Yes? Can I help you?”

The man raised a brow. “You can start earning your pay, for starters. Stop talking to friends during work hours, and stop treating us like nuisances. This is what you _do,_ Axel.”

Green eyes widened, the redhead pinching the wire-frame of his glasses. “Uh, do you know me? Because – ” He glanced at Demyx. “I’m pretty sure I’d have remembered swapping names with either of you.”

“Ansem told us that you’d help Demyx to his first class,” Auron said flatly. The guy eyed Demyx uncertainly.

“Oh, he did, huh?” He hesitated, shrugged a little. “Okay, I guess. Come on,” he said half-heartedly. He reluctantly slipped his phone in the pocket of his jeans as he stood, adjusting the hem of his white shirt. His reading glasses were slipped up into his hair, long fingers rubbing at the red marks either side of his nose from where they’d rested. He glanced apprehensively at the pair, grabbed up a small, ‘back in five minutes’ sign and placed it on the counter. He led the way out into the hall, slightly busier now that it was closer to class time, and Auron paused. “Good luck,” he said seriously. “I’ll bring you dinner tonight. Just get through today and get home, and we’ll talk.” The blond nodded wordlessly, wide eyes on the ground. The man set off down the hall, the opposite direction. Studying him speculatively, the secretary, Axel, said, “Come on, kid, your first class is basic English.” He checked the papers, gave a little chuckle. “You got Zexion, huh? You’re gonna _need_ luck with him – he’s a hardass and a half.”

Not encouraged, Demyx followed the thin redhead, down the black-and-white chequered hall, the line of lockers. Halfway along, they stopped suddenly, the man slamming a hand onto the metal door directly in front of Demyx’s face, startling him back a step, still soundless. He glanced up questioningly, fearfully. The redhead’s eyes were narrowed, a smirk in place, obviously amused by the blond’s jumpiness, losing his initial wariness little by little. “This here is _your_ locker, kid,” he informed him. “Combination code – ” He turned, grabbed the lock, twisted back and forth. “Four, three, two, seven, open!” He swung the narrow door wide, gestured with a hand. “I’ll tell you a secret, yeah?” He patted the door lovingly. “Used to be my old locker, when I went here. That one,” he banged the one behind him, “belongs to my boyfriend, and _that_ one,” he kicked the one directly below Demyx’s, “belongs to his brother.” He fixed him with a hard look. “They’re in your year, you were put here deliberately by Ansem because Sora’s such a friendly little fucker, he’s about the only one in this damn school you’ve got a hope of accepting you as a friend. I guess everyone wanted you to have a chance, or something.” He closed the locker door sharply, the clang ringing out in the hallway. He leaned on it, arms folding over his chest, eyes boring into the teen. “These guys have got three months left til graduation.” A finger poked sharply into his chest, rocking Demyx back on his heels. “Don’t. Fuck it up for them.”

The blond glared suddenly. “You sure you want to be poking me like that? I’m from the crazy world, remember? Aren’t you scared I’ll snap and attack you or something?”

The guy was a little smug, though a portion of the caution remained. “You’re not allowed to,” he reminded him. “I’ve been given the info on you, Blondie.” He poked Demyx again, the ocean-coloured eyes narrowing further, shoulders hunching over as he restrained his irritation.

“I’d like to go to class now,” he muttered, gaze dropping to the side. The redhead smirked, shrugged, levered up from the locker and resumed walking, a natural cockiness in his step that hadn’t existed when Auron was around. Demyx pitied the poor fool that was the brother of the boy who was supposedly the only friend he’d ever make here. Imagine having _that_ guy as a boyfriend. Hotness factor – through the roof. Jerkwad factor – right up there with it. Sullenly, the blond slouched after him, shoes scuffing the floor. Several different hallways were traversed, a set of stairs mounted, Demyx hopelessly trying to memorise it all, before, yet again, the guy’s arm went shooting past Demyx’s face, almost grazing his nose as his palm slapped the wall. Behind him was a door. “Okay, so, here you are,” he said, sharp gaze travelling over the blond’s left arm. “Zexy’s inside, he’ll no doubt show you some of the ropes, but don’t piss him off, kid, because, like I said, he’s a hardass. He’ll pin your balls to the wall faster than you can blink, so don’t bother pulling any weird shit in there, got it?” That finger again, poking his sternum. Demyx bit down on the instinct to slap his hand away, gritted his teeth.

“Can I get _past_ you, please?” he grated, with forced patience. The redhead’s lips pursed, head tilting, light flashing off the lenses of his glasses nestled in his hair.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly, a hard thread entering his tone. “I’m pretty curious as to what you’ll do if I say ‘no’. I’m kind of wanting to test you out, kid, since I can actually fend for myself if you decide to go ape-shit.”

Something in Dem wilted, a weariness of the situation rising up. He was still cold – he just wanted to get in and sit down before more people started arriving. “I’m not crazy,” the blond replied softly, a pleading note in his voice, not looking up into the accusing green eyes. “I’m not going to hurt anyone. Please, let me past.”

The guy leaned in towards him. “I’m thinking – ”

“Axel.” The redhead jerked a little, twisted his head. Demyx peered over his shoulder at the man who stood behind them, fingers on the handle of the classroom door. Metallic lavender hair hung in loose spikes across one half of a stoic face, expression as flat as that one spoken word had been. “Please tell me that’s not my new student you’re physically intimidating. Please.”

Scarlet brows rose. “Uh… no? I was just – ”

The man raised a hand, narrow fingertips massaging his forehead. “Inside. Both of you,” he commanded thinly. Axel frowned.

“I have to get back to – ”

“In!” He stepped to one side, a small hardback book held against his hip, pointing through the open door. His features were severe, visible eye glowering. Demyx blanched, scuttled around the redhead to obey, meekly entered the room under the glare of his first teacher for the day. As he passed him, the blond sighed. This wasn’t looking good. He really didn’t have a hope of leading a semi-normal life, did he? Shaking his head minutely, he started towards the back of the empty class, stopped abruptly by a hand closing on his thin shoulder. He jumped a little, glanced over with wide eyes at the short, slender figure of the teacher. “Demyx, right?” he asked mildly. The blond hesitated, nodded slowly, gaze shifting to the redhead, who had entered and was sulking against the wall beside the door. “I’m Zexion. You have the desk nearest mine,” the man said. He released Demyx, pointed to the corner desk of the front row, directly in front of his own. “It will be like this in all of your classes,” he informed the teen. “So that we can keep an eye on you.” In response to Demyx’s downcast expression, he added, “Not in case you hurt people – in case you’re struggling.” Demyx eyed the man sceptically, almost suspicious of the lack of fear in his bearing.

“Okay,” he said quietly. He went over to the indicated desk, sat carefully, bag dragged again into his lap as he waited. His left arm was on full display as, over the course of the next fifteen minutes, a slow trickle of students entered. One by one, they stopped short at the sight of him, prompted in bored tones by Zexion to take their regular positions. The man himself sat at his own desk, two feet from Demyx, marking papers, not paying an ounce of attention to him. The red-haired secretary huffed and sighed impatiently. “You know, Zex,” he said with irritation at last, “the sign says, ‘back in five’, not ‘twenty’. You wanna get my ass fired?”

“Right now,” the man murmured, not looking up from his work, red pen in hand, “to be honest, I’d like nothing more.” A minute later the first bell rang, and a thick stream of bodies entered, Demyx briefly forgotten in the rush. Zexion looked up calmly, pen laid aside, and waited for them to settle. Like a ripple, the information passed from person to person, and each set of eyes turned to Demyx, who sank lower in his chair. It was bad enough being the new guy – worse to be the new psychotic. A girl muttered, “Oh, my God.” Zexion stood, and there was stillness. He crossed his arms, sighed, went to stand in front of the whiteboard.

“Good morning, class,” he greeted, voice raised to reach the back. “Welcome to another week of ‘if you don’t work, you don’t graduate’.” His gaze travelled through the ranks, taking in the petrified expressions, the ugliness of disgust, glimmers of hatred in some. “I have a brief quiz for you.” He paused, gauged their response. “Those of you who are _not,_ I repeat, _not_ an ignoramus, please raise your _left hand.”_ There was a rustle of confusion. No hands were raised. Zexion closed his eyes briefly. “As easy as that would be to believe, I truly don’t believe you’re all quite that self-deprecating. Let me remind you, all quizzes go towards making up your final mark. Do you want to fail this one by not participating?”

One by one, hesitantly, the hands rose. Demyx hung his head, raised his own, cringing internally with a certainty of where this was going. The humiliation was intense, flooding the flesh of his face. He glanced up for a moment, saw that Axel in the corner was rolling his eyes, his hand also in the air. Zexion observed the suspended limbs, gaze shifting over them. At last, he nodded faintly. “That many of you? You had me fooled, then. You all fail – you were correct the first time.” His voice was cutting. “Arms down, all of you, except for the new student.” Demyx sank his face into his right hand, drawing a slow, unsteady breath, ears turning red. All too soon, his was the only arm still aloft, distinctive and alone. He didn’t realise the teacher had moved until a cool hand suddenly wrapped around his wrist, bringing his head up in surprise, blinking rapidly at the man that met his gaze briefly, before turning to the class. He pulled Dem’s arm a little higher, displaying it. “See this, ladies and gentlemen?” The fingers of his other hand came around, efficiently tracing the thick black sweeps and patterning on the blond’s skin, from his shoulder to his fingers. “A series of tattoos that took roughly twelve hours to complete. They’re a form of identification. Stamp of someone from the mad world...” His voice turned icy. “…who is not _mad.”_ He held Demyx for a moment longer, letting this sink in. The blond’s brows had drawn together, staring up at the slender man. He let Demyx go at last, tingling, bloodless arm pulled back to nurse against his stomach. “Do your homework, children, before you decide to ostracise,” the slender man concluded, moving back around behind his desk. His gaze flicked over to the secretary, dismissively saying, “Axel, you can leave now. I’ve made my point.”

The redhead glared a little, both at Zexion and then Demyx, before turning and exiting the classroom. Zexion began the regular lesson, Demyx’s introduction well and truly taken care of. He sat for a while, staring blankly at his desk, grappling with the idea that there was someone in this world that didn’t hate him on sight for simply _being._ It was – heady.

A book was placed under his nose, the blond coming up blinking. “We’re at page eighty-three,” Zexion said, flipping it open with one hand, a fingertip tapping the start of a sentence halfway down the page. “Follow closely, there’ll be a questionnaire to fill afterwards.” Demyx watched him go to his desk and sit back down, calling for one of the students towards the back to start reading aloud.

Yeah. Heady.


	3. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Zexion held Demyx back with a firm hand as the class rose at the end of the lesson, clattering, papers rustling and books snapping. Their wide-eyed stares remained fixed on him as they filed out – those that were brave enough to look, that was. The blond lowered his face a little, sucking a slow breath through his nose, Zexion patting his shoulder briefly before he went and sat back at his desk.

The little wheels of the man’s chair squeaked as he pulled himself in, hands folding, thumbs placed together and rubbing slightly. Demyx could – _feel_ his gaze, feel the teacher’s eyes boring into him. He had developed, very quickly, a sixth-sense to such things, and, just like always happened, the smaller hairs of his arms and neck stiffened, a little ripple of goose-bumps spreading across his skin. Silence developed, in which Zexion made no attempt to speak, despite the fact that the bell signalling the changeover of classes had rung nearly three minutes ago now.

Finally, mustering up his courage, Demyx hesitantly, softly, asked, “Did I – do something wrong?”

Zexion was almost surprised. He ceased his thumb-rubbing, head cocking slightly to the side. “No, not at all. We’re just waiting on Axel. There’s a five minute break between classes, so – ” He checked his watch. “He’s not late. Yet.” He gave a faintly apologetic shrug. “I’d walk you myself, but I have to teach the next group.”

Demyx finally glanced up, a little confused. “…Oh.” He sucked his lips. “But, uh, I think that guy was only meant to walk me to _this_ class – he’s not doing it officially or anything.”

“He is now,” Zexion replied, smiling thinly. “You’ll recall I sent one young lady to the front office with a note, earlier? That was my request that Axel be put on escort duty for a while.”

“Oh.” Demyx frowned slightly, tried to contain his gloom. Just what he needed – more of the secretary threatening him.

Noticing his discomfort, the man mildly added, “It’s quite all right, he’ll behave himself – and it’s preferable to getting lost halfway to your next class, don’t you think?”

Clasping his hands between his knees, Demyx nodded half-heartedly, smiling in a shaky semblance of gratitude, kind of wishing he’d been allowed to take his chances. Maybe if he hung around his locker long enough, he’d run into the mythical boy who was rumoured to actually be inclined to like him. Then again, maybe he’d get lynched by the varsity football team before he even got there… He sighed.

At the open doorway, the redhead at last appeared, wearing his glasses, a blank expression in place as he knocked quickly on the door for their attention. “Yeah – I’m here for the kid?” he said, sounding bored, a flinty touch of irritation to his gaze as it touched upon Zexion.

“Just in time,” the man smiled, raising his chin slightly, eyes narrowing the slightest amount. “If you hurry, perhaps Demyx won’t have to be the last to class, hm?”

Annoyance a little more pronounced, Axel saluted lazily, sarcasm in the motion as he replied, “Sure thing, Zex, I’ll go like I’ve got rockets on my f-… feet.”

“Excellent, good luck with that,” Zexion muttered, already turning his attention away, taking hold of the nearest sheaf of papers and beginning to leaf through. He glanced up as Demyx realised this was his cue and awkwardly rose, shoulders hunching, gathering the strap of his bag and looping it over his neck. “And good luck to you, Demyx,” he said, flashing a genuine smile. “I hope the rest of your day goes smoothly.”

“Uh – thanks.” Demyx nodded, hesitated, turned to where Axel waited with poorly concealed impatience.

With a scowl, the redhead asked, “Got your stuff?”

“Y-yeah,” the blond murmured, patting his bag. Axel gestured with a hand for him to follow, Demyx falling into place quickly, shadowing his long strides. Ignoring the looks they were getting, the man shamelessly shoved loiterers out of the way as they made their way to Demyx’s next class. The blond kept his head down, trying to shrink into himself to escape the stares of the milling students on the way to their various own classes. Axel’s presence was enough to keep the flashes of shock and outrage at bay as they progressed, but Demyx could only guess at how long that amnesty would last.

He found himself wondering exactly how Professor Ansem had got the parental approval to allow him to attend the school, supposing maybe that this world didn’t have PTAs. Another stroke of foul luck – this would’ve been _so_ much simpler if Mr. and Mrs. Smith and their army of like-minds had threatened to take their precious Billies, Bobbies and Sallies out of the school and away from the destructive influence that was – him?

He huffed slightly, hitching his bag close, nearly walking straight into the redhead. Axel had stopped abruptly, an arm extended once again against the lockers, though this time it was more a leaning gesture than a form of intimidation. He inhaled to speak, then winced as, almost directly above his head on the wall, a red bell started hammering and screeching. Demyx ducked instinctively, defensively clutching the strap across his chest. Axel’s gaze flicked around the mostly empty hall, a tight grimace in place for the duration of the hideous noise that Demyx realised would dog his days for the next twelve weeks.

The sharp clanging ceased at last, all at once, though it continued to echo in their ears for several moments afterward. Axel cleared his throat, adjusting the splay of his hand on the grey metal of the locker. “Yeah, so… I liked my hearing,” he admitted, with dry regret. He rubbed at his hair, green eyes fixing upon Demyx. “What I was _going_ to say, before I was so rudely interrupted, is – we’re here.” He gave an exasperated exhalation, pushing upright, hands tossed into the air. “Hardly seems worth _mentioning_ now.” He stepped back, swung open the door, grabbed the blond by the neck and steered him forcefully in. The mostly assembled class froze upon seeing the tattooed teen, who stared back, wide-eyed. He could now understand why Auron had wanted him already sitting down for the English class – this was unnerving as all hell. An ocean of eyes, all directed his way.

The teacher, a tall, severe-looking woman with short dark hair, wearing leather from her toes to her throat, stood beside the whiteboard. Her voice had a deep timbre, as she said, “You’re late, new kid.” Her gaze flicked over to the man behind him. “But then, with Axel showing you around, I hardly find that surprising.”

“Pain in the ass,” Axel retorted, to which she fake-laughed, a bitchy sound, her expression falling flat again immediately afterward.

“I tell you, you get funnier every time I see you, Axel. Isn’t your desk calling you? Pretty sure your pink-haired friend is on the phone offering a free manicure while you wait for home-time.”

Axel sneered, clapped Demyx on the shoulder, making him jolt, and said, “Like Zexion said: good _luck._ You’re gonna need it.”

With that encouraging parting statement, he was gone. Demyx was barely breathing, fingers twitching as he stood frozen in place, intimidated beyond belief. The leather-clad woman glanced him over, a hand moving to her hip. “Well – are you going to stand there all day?” she asked. When he didn’t respond, she placed her hands against the edge of her desk, stretching in a catlike manner. An eyebrow rising, she nodded the desk immediately in front of her own. “You have a seat, you know.” Demyx forced himself to shift, swallowing, eyes darting over the other students as he shuffled forward. The woman watched him with a glimmer of amusement. “My name is Paine, as the secretary so cleverly punned. Do you even know what class this is?” The blond blinked at her blankly, eliciting a wry chuckle from the woman. “Wow. Well-informed, I see.” She picked up a heavy textbook as he stiffly took his seat, and, just as he was settling, slammed it down next to his arm. Demyx yelped, snatching his hands to his body. “Welcome to History 101,” Paine remarked, pushing the book over with two fingers. “You’re being run through the more basic courses, from what I can tell, dealing in general knowledge and learning.”

She bent over Demyx’s desk, resting her knuckles against its wooden surface. For a long moment, she didn’t speak, her red-wine coloured eyes drilling into his blue ones, Demyx struggling to control his breathing at the close proximity and hard scrutiny. He couldn’t quite keep himself from glancing away, fearful, and suddenly wished Zexion would pretty much just follow him around while parroting, ‘I hope that’s not my new student you’re intimidating’ with a well-placed ‘bitch’ for effect when necessary.

His lips disappeared between his teeth – it was like being caught in a serpent’s hypnotic glare. Her expression was calm, gaze steady. The class watched on intently, and it was all Dem could do to not start gasping for air. Reminding himself firmly that this was really nothing new, the blond released his bitten lips, drew a shaky breath, and eventually asked, “What?”

“You going to go nuts and start hurting my kids?” she asked bluntly.

 _“No,”_ Demyx unhappily answered. He’d been hoping, after Zexion, that maybe he could rely on the teachers around the academy to treat him more normally, even if the students were afraid of him. But… apparently not.

Paine nodded after a moment. “Well – alright then.”

And just like that, she was gone, so swiftly that the blond was left blinking into the sudden space where she had been. His mouth moved wordlessly, before snapping shut as she took her position in front of the board and picked up a marker. Her eyes swept the room, a narrow cast to them, as she jerked the cap off, slowly fixing it to the pen’s base. She paused, nodded to herself at the unnatural silence in the room, and turned to begin the lesson.

As the marker squeaked against the whiteboard, Demyx straightened a little, heart still beating faster than normal, but with cautious surprise creeping through him. Carefully, he sent a couple of glances around the room. Everyone here was a little younger than him, but perfectly capable of forming a mob to take him out. But – maybe he _could_ look forward to just a _little_ bit of acceptance. Two people so far, in a public setting, had openly addressed his – condition – and not instantly crucified him on it. Two, so far, had given him a chance. This was – two more than he was used to. Maybe school wouldn’t be so bad, after all, even _if_ it still riled him to have to attend at all.

The class ran for a double period, and in that time, Demyx sat silently and watched, listened, gauged. His skin crawled almost constantly, but it grew more distant as the minutes wore on, different from the burrowing, glaring hatred he was accustomed to encountering. Like, when he’d gone grocery shopping the other night. He’d gone a little later, aiming for when fewer people would hopefully be out and about, but the empty store he’d prayed for wasn’t delivered, and he’d had to – well, he’d had to endure. He’d endured that, and he figured that this couldn’t end up being much worse, in the end. There might have been morepeople in this environment, but kids were less inclined to do anything about it when constantly surrounded by authority figures. So far, those authorities had asserted a standard of tolerance, and the kids were taking their lead from that. Adults, Demyx knew, were worse than their offspring. They already had a lifetime of being taught to hate ingrained. The part that sucked was that they were so damn good at passing it on. Demyx had lost count of the amount of children that had been jerked out of his path, glittering-eyed parent kneeling and pointing him out to them. _See? There’s your starting point – learn to hate him. Then, tomorrow, I’ll show you someone else. Don’t forget._

The bell rang for end of class, and Demyx jumped sharply, the noise splitting the peaceful atmosphere he’d been all but luxuriating in. It had been nice, just being still, knowing he wasn’t in any immediate danger, letting Paine’s dry, clipped voice fill his head. He had taken a few notes, but didn’t know yet what was required of him in all of this – neither did Auron, the order had come trickling down from on high, with little substance attached aside from ‘see what he can manage’. As a result, alongside the notes, Dem had spent the lesson doodling. The margin of his file paper was scrawled with little scribbles and swirls, the occasional musical instrument, a line of painfully happy faces drawn over and over, even in paper form their expressions seeming forced, tight. He couldn’t quite figure out how to make them just – normal.

Gathering his papers, shoving them in his bag, the blond avoided the eyes of those passing by his desk, waiting until most had gone before standing. Halfway to the door, he got dizzy, a sharp, sudden, sickening sensation. Everything felt surreal, all of a sudden, like reality could bend at any second. He panted shallowly, gripping the doorframe and leaning against it, chin dipping low. He started shuddering, and this time the cold had nothing to do with it.

_Where was he?_

He glanced up, expression twisting as his eyes flitted around the hallway.

_Where was home?_

Was this a – school? What the hell was he doing at _school?_

_Where_ _was everyone?_

His eyes squeezed shut, teeth gritting together, panic rising swiftly in the confines of his chest. “Demyx?” Paine’s voice, curious with an edge, heeled boots passing over the thin carpet.

And again, almost immediately, a boy’s echoed: “Demyx?”

His eyes sprang open, a shaky breath being drawn as he found himself staring at something silver and puffy. His gaze rose to meet clear blue eyes regarding him cautiously. Demyx’s brows drew together as he croaked, “…Huh?”

“Demyx, is there a problem here?” Paine stood directly behind him, tone hardening. Demyx’s eyes closed briefly, just once more.

_Oh. That’s right._

“N-no,” he hoarsely replied, staring at the boy in front of him. The kid was dwarfed inside a gigantic, shining parka, with a multi-coloured beanie pulled down to his eyebrows and a red pompom finishing the whole ensemble off. Taking a slow, steadying breath, Demyx pushed himself weakly upright, shaking his head for emphasis. “No, I’m – I’m fine.”

“I’m here for Demyx,” the boy offered, looking over his shoulder at the woman. “I’m taking him to lunch.”

Demyx frowned. “No – that guy Axel’s been…” He bit down sharply on his tongue, then said accusingly, “I don’t know you.”

And then, like the sun coming out… the boy _smiled._ He actually smiled. He smiled at _Demyx._ For a long moment, whatever further words he was saying simply didn’t register in the blond’s brain, because he was too busy being blown away. Auron was nice, but Demyx could count on one sock-clad hand the amount of times he’d seen the man curve his lips upward, let alone part them to reveal teeth in a non-threatening manner. And he _liked_ Demyx. He was on his _side._ And here was this – utterly unknown, blue-eyed creature, and he was…?

Demyx’s first assumption, made with mute, dumbstruck certainty, was that the kid had to be blind. Really, really blind. Not just – ‘forgot to put my contacts in’, but – ‘ _where’s my cane’_ type stuff. Because his arm was as prominent as ever, and –

The boy trailed off, suddenly aware that the blond wasn’t listening to him. “Uh – are you okay?” His eyes sought Demyx’s, trying to pin him down, looking deep for an answer. “You are Demyx, right?” He then shook his head almost instantly, realising his error. “Of course you are, Paine just called you that, and I don’t think there’s two guys in this school matching your, uh, physical description.” He blinked quickly at Demyx’s tattoos.

Not blind, then.

The blond took a deep breath. “Yeah,” he said faintly. “I’m Demyx.” He then scratched his head, equal parts bewildered and careful. “You want to take me to lunch?”

The boy nodded energetically, pompon jerking. “I’m Sora – Axel sent me a note in class? Said he’d told you about me – we’re sharing a locker.” Demyx stared some more, making the boy hesitate. “Unless that’s… not okay with you,” he faltered.

Demyx frowned a little, a puzzled expression. “No – it’s okay. If you actually _want_ to…”

The boy brightened. “Sure! I mean, it’s just the caf, but you’ve gotta eat, right?”

Demyx… could hardly believe that the kid was so easy-going with him. Swallowing, he muttered, “R-right.”

Able to hesitate only so long, Demyx tightened his hands around the strap of his satchel and stepped out into the hallway. Standing side by side, he noticed that the kid only came up to his shoulder. That was one short senior. Sora shot Demyx a quick once-over, adjusting the shoulders of his backpack on the creaking silver material. “So, it’s this way.”

He started walking, flipping a quick wave to Paine, who was leaning against the door following the exchange. She nodded back and returned to the classroom, as Demyx, feeling suddenly painfully awkward, followed the kid along the corridor. He still had a slight sweat at his temples, cold now, from his little… freak-out moment. He shivered a little, folding his arms faintly defensively over his stomach as they walked. He fucking _hated_ it when that happened. It left him feeling raw, and vulnerable – two things he could really do without.

Sora didn’t speak much, except to direct, but neither was he fearful or subdued, something which continued to make Demyx feel as though he had his foot within the jaws of a bear-trap. It was like, if he breathed wrong? _Snap._ There goes his ankle. That feeling, right here, right now. He was mentally frozen, scared to shift a certain way and find that this trap, which hadn’t gone off straight away, would just turn out to be a little less sensitive than the minefield of others he’d hobbled his way through.

He kept a little distance between them the whole time that they walked, never daring to venture too far into the kid’s personal space. The stupid thing was that the be-hatted boy didn’t even seem to notice, wasn’t paying attention. He just quietly led the way, steps a little bouncy, stiff shoes clapping loudly in the halls, while Dem’s sneakers squeaked, the same grotty, dirty ones he’d been wearing since his home world. He hadn’t let anyone take them away – he loved these shoes. They had been, through all the long weeks within the hospital, something of a safety blanket for him – something to cling to, to remind himself that he’d _come_ from somewhere, wasn’t just a nameless, faceless nobody. And for some reason, they’d allowed it. No doubt Lucrecia had had something to do with it – if Hojo had been acting alone, Dem was pretty sure he’d have been stripped naked, straitjacketed, and left to rot in some padded cell while those glittering, dark eyes coldly observed the deterioration of his mind. Creepy little _creep._

They descended a staircase, Sora’s hand sliding noisily along the handrail, and exited the building to cross a courtyard, a blast of cold hitting the blond, making his jaw clench tightly. He sucked in a breath, hands clamping over his arms, teeth chattering almost instantly. He forgotten about this! God, just a few hours in the classrooms, with all the wonders of central heating, and he’d almost stopped thinking about how little protection he had on.

A sharp, dry wind was blowing in from the east, carrying a faint chemical smell from the direction of the power plant in the centre of the city, several miles away from the academy. _Mako,_ Demyx recalled. It wasn’t exactly an unpleasant scent, but it was – weird. His apartment was closer to it than the school was, and the late afternoon breezes usually brought that same unusual odour drifting through his windows. Auron claimed to not even notice, even though the fumes, or whatever they were, whipped through _his_ apartment almost constantly. Demyx could only ever wonder if it was carcinogenic. It seemed fitting that they’d stick him somewhere that’d kill him slowly.

Sora sent an odd look over his shoulder as Demyx began all but jerking with the force of his shivers, arms clamped around himself to try and preserve some heat. “We’re here,” the kid remarked, pushing open a glass door, letting the blond enter first, back into warmth. Demyx gave an audible gasp of relief. It was like a series of knives sliding slowly out of his body. Sora reached up and grabbed hold of his bobble-hat, casually slinging it off to reveal a wild thatch of spiky brown hair, most of it falling instantly into his eyes. Letting out a little laugh, he swept it away, scraping a hand through and sheepishly saying, “Hat-hair.” He beckoned to the blond with a smile. “Come on, I’ll show you where we’re sitting.”

Cautiously, Demyx trailed after him. Table by table, the noisy cafeteria fell silent, swarms of eyes drawn suddenly, magnetically, to where he moved through them. Both he and Sora slowed a little, the brunet boy adopting an expression of bewilderment. He darted a questioning look back at Demyx, whose own eyes were now firmly averted, ground-bound, following the kid’s heels. Fear made his heart thunder – he was surrounded, and one little blue-eyed senior wasn’t going to be able to keep a horde from pounding the living crap out of him for the crime of existing. Tension practically crackled through the air, making him want to start panting, making him want to run. It would be only a matter of moments before someone snapped, followed by _everyone._

Demyx was starting to think he was maybe wrong about adults being worse. This – could only end badly.

“Sora!” A sharp voice cut through the air, drawing the attention of the masses. A blond boy stood near the back of the room at a square table, expression hard. He was waving them over. Relief blooming over the boy’s face, he grabbed hold of Demyx’s hand – a shock like no other, he had barely been touched since he’d lived a normal life back home, let alone had anyone holding his hand – and dragged him across the cafeteria, flapping his coloured hat broadly through the air. “Roxas! Hey!”

The room watched as the two teens hurried the rest of the way across the room, Sora just about crushing Demyx’s hand, nails pressing indents into the flesh. As they reached the table, Sora gave a nervous laugh and shoved Demyx none-too-gently into the seat against the wall, slamming his bulky backpack onto the table a second later, blocking Demyx off from the rest of the cafeteria. The kid then sat next to him, chair legs scraping across the ground.

The other kid, Roxas, still standing, whipped a cold look around the room. Then, making Demyx jolt, the look transferred to him. He squirmed, tucking his hands between his thighs and staring at the table, unable to hold the kid’s gaze. Roxas didn’t look much taller than Sora, but the air around him was vastly different. Sora was fuzzy and unfocused. _This_ guy was like a _knife._ A razorblade on legs. Demyx twitched as the kid asked, “You got any money on you?”

Demyx blinked, chanced a look up, brows drawing together. His hand was already moving, sliding into the pocket of his bag. He hesitated, pulled out the wad of bills Auron had given him at the beginning of the week, with a warning to make it last – ShinRa wasn’t a charity. The bundle was smaller than it had been since his shopping expedition, but there was still roughly fifty bucks – fifty gil. The blond boy stared for a moment, eyes narrowing, sending a frisson of anxiety spiking through Demyx’s nerves. Then he said, “Unless you’re planning to try and win over the school by buying everyone an ice cream, you’re not going to need all that. Are you getting something to eat? I can buy it for you.”

Demyx went blank, features slackening. “Uhh…”

With an impatient sigh, Roxas snatched the bills from his hand, peeled one off and leaned across the table, shoving the rest back into the pocket of his bag. “What do you eat?” he demanded, sounding thoroughly unimpressed by the entire venture.

Demyx couldn’t help but squeak in return, “Food?” As the kid rolled his eyes, Demyx lowered his gaze to the table. “T-to be honest, I’m – not that hungry,” he mumbled. “It’s cool.” His fingers twisted together, out of sight. “You can keep the money, though, if you want…”

He heard a sigh. “I’ll get you a juice or something.” Roxas still didn’t move, however, Demyx fidgeting all the while. A heavy hush remained over the room, suffocatingly thick. Out of sight evidently wasn’t putting him out of mind, even with the scary blond kid giving everyone evil looks. Demyx hunched over a little further, trying to become inconspicuous, as Sora started glancing around.

“Where’s Riku?” he asked.

“Coming this way,” Roxas replied calmly. Sora brightened noticeably, and thirty seconds later a tall teen with silver hair arrived holding a tray of food. Demyx kept low, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do with himself. He was cursing, silently and heatedly, against Auron for ever leaving him in this mess.

The newcomer – Riku, Demyx supposed – placed the tray down with a clatter and took the seat on Sora’s other side. By some tacit agreement, this was Roxas’ cue to go, taking Demyx’s money with him. The blond was a little confused, head lifting slowly. There was – something systematic to their actions, an unspoken agreement between Roxas and Riku to not leave Demyx and Sora alone. Was it because they wanted to protect them from everyone? Or… Sora from him?

“So – you’re Demyx.” Less a question than a statement, Riku, eyes piercing, was watching him carefully. The blond grimaced and bobbed his head in confirmation.

“Yeah. That’s me.” His mouth twisted. “…You heard about me already?”

“The whole school was told about you last Friday,” the teen informed him.

Sora, grabbing a bottle of water from the tray, twisted off the cap and took a gulp. “Yeah, you didn’t think they were just gonna spring you on us, did you?” he demanded. He shrugged, nestled down into his thick parka. “I get it, I guess, but they’re all a bunch of idiots if they think _you’re_ gonna hurt us.” He smiled a little, the comment not meant unkindly. “You look pretty harmless to me.” He leaned forward suddenly, expression focused. “Can I ask you a question?”

Demyx glanced uncertainly at the silver-haired boy, whose expression was bland, then hesitantly back to Sora. “…What about?”

“You,” the kid clarified, a frown settling over his features. Demyx drew a breath, apprehensively waiting. “Aren’t you _cold?”_

His eyes turned blank. “Aren’t I…?”

“It’s just – ” Sora indicated himself, fat with padding, narrow face looking strange above it all, cheeks slightly flushed. “I mean, look at me! I’m cold all the time these days – fucking winter – and you…” He waved a hand to encompass Dem’s thin defence. “Do you people not feel the temperature or something?”

Demyx barked out a laugh, almost scaring himself, the first laugh he could remember uttering for far too long. He clapped a hand over his mouth, heart pounding suddenly. Around them, conversation was gradually resuming, murmurs and mutters, but the air was slowly deflating. A stupid, half-wild grin had plastered itself to the blond’s face, making Riku frown, pausing in the action of punching a narrow white straw into a boxed juice. “I – I definitely feel the cold,” Demyx eventually replied, tone somewhat strangled. He looked down at his sparsely-clad torso, baring his teeth, which still chattered the slightest amount, though more from nerves than anything else. “I just don’t have anything warm to wear.”

Sora stared as if he was crazy. “So, you’re just walking around like _that?_ Don’t you have, like, even a sweater?”

Demyx hesitated. “No,” he said slowly. “I don’t have a sweater. I’m not allowed to own sweaters.”

Their eyes drifted to his arm, just as the scary blond kid returned, clunking a bottle of orange juice in front of him. “Roxas!” Sora sounded faint. “Demyx isn’t allowed to wear sweaters!”

Roxas’ blue eyes glanced at him calculatedly. “That doesn’t surprise me. His tattoos, and all.”

“But – the _cold,_ Rox, the _cold!”_ Sora turned to Demyx with some distress. “Can’t you just have one and push the left sleeve up? Can’t you – cut it off, or something?”

Demyx jerked slightly. “I don’t… know?” he replied uncertainly, eyebrows lowering in thought. “Maybe?” He laced his fingers together beneath the table. “I have to be on display at all times. All I have is what the hospital and ShinRa allow me, and my guardian never really mentioned anything about other clothes…”

“So, it’s true?” Roxas cut in, demanding, “You were in a mental ward? We heard stories, but – ”

“Only until they realised I’m not crazy,” the blond defended. The issue of his sanity was a touchy one. He’d gone through so _much_ just to prove that he was normal; he wasn’t going to let _anyone_ sit back and attack him for being in the hospital. “They wouldn’t have let me out, otherwise,” he added stubbornly, glaring slightly. “I’m not dangerous.”

“Oh, we don’t think you are,” Sora said, sounding surprised. “I mean, technically, _everyone_ here knows you’re not dangerous, because Professor Ansem told us so over the announcements, but…” He scowled, adjusted the collar of his jacket. “Well, the announcements have lied to us before.”

“Sora,” sighed Roxas, “the faculty telling us we’d get to train Blitz in At-freaking-lantis and then deciding it’s too expensive, _despite_ what our parents pay for this place, is _not_ on par with letting a confirmed psychopath into the school.”

Frowning, the boy pondered this for a moment. “He’s not, though. A psychopath. I mean… can’t you tell?” When no answer was forthcoming, an evidently awkward Sora started talking again. “Well… now that we’re all here, introductions: I’m Sora, duh,” he offered, rolling his eyes at his own uselessness. He flapped a hand at each of the other males in turn. “That’s my best friend, Riku, and Roxas is my twin brother.”

Demyx spluttered on a cautious sip of juice, and started coughing. _“You’re_ his brother?” Sure, there were physical similarities – uh, a lot, now that he was noticing – but, well, firstly, talk about day and _night,_ and second… “You’re the one who’s with – what’s-his-face? The guy? Axel?” He was dubious, suddenly feeling a lot less welcome. What a couple – both obviously hated him, judging by the sharp look he was receiving.

“What about it?” Roxas asked tersely. Demyx cringed, wishing he hadn’t been quite so goddamn blatant in his horror.

“Just… he mentioned you, and… I was surprised,” he said lamely. “You know, to… see you?” There was some resounding silence, as the three students attempted to piece together the blond’s reaction. He sighed. Roxas eyed him.

“Has Axel been giving you a hard time?” he questioned shrewdly. “What exactly _did_ he say about me?”

“I – he just…”

“Did he threaten you?” Riku asked mildly, attracting three sets of pale eyes. Demyx’s widened, lips pursing slightly.

“N-not a _real_ threat, he – kind of – ”

Roxas sighed abruptly. “So, he was an asshole to you, right? And, what? You were expecting me to be as obnoxious as he is?” He fixed Demyx with a stern look, making him flinch. “Let me put it this way – I don’t trust you. Not for as long as those tattoos are on your arm. But I’m not like Axel.” His eyes became flinty. “I won’t hurt you unless you do something to earn it.”

Demyx drew a gradual breath, sighed it out. “That’s fair,” he said, resignedly. He smiled thinly in their direction, tight and fast to fade. “Thanks for the juice, anyway.”

Noise levels had resumed to mostly full capacity within the cafeteria, though there remained a subdued quality to it all. Demyx didn’t speak for the rest of the lunch period, a little relieved, a little lonely, when he was left out of further conversation between the three. Every now and then, Sora tried to engage his interest, but Demyx was… tired. He wished he could go home already. He was looking forward to cleaning the wooden floors of the apartment, maybe scrubbing the shower recess. He wanted Auron, who wouldn’t bat an eyelid when he spoke about regular stuff, who would sit silently on the other end of the battered green couch and grunt his acknowledgements.

Demyx was surrounded by noise, and all he wanted was some peace. He wanted – to fill it with music, and forget, for a short while. Things weren’t happening like he’d expected them to, but that didn’t make him any less miserable in the long run.

He sighed, sinking down in his metal chair, and waited for the interminable day to end.

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

It was the afternoon that proved some of Demyx’s fears well-founded.

When the haranguing bell-of-doom went off to signal the end of the lunch period, Sora startled Demyx by remaining in place, waiting at his side at the table for the room to empty out. The blond lowered his head with a slight frown, a thumb moving restlessly over the rough material of his bag. He had been given no reason to mistrust this boy, but… it wasn’t easy to just decide someone was okay. He _wanted_ to – it put a worming feeling of hope deep down in his stomach that he’d thought had already shrivelled up and withered away. He liked Auron, but the thought of having that one incredibly stoic man as the _only_ person in the outside world to actually accept him for the rest of his life had been depressing, in the depths of restless nights. And here was one person that, apparently, could actually relieve that – could be someone Demyx didn’t have to avoid, or fear. But after this long, the habit was hard to break.

His eyes flicked to where the boy sat, only to find Sora watching him back – along with the quieter, silver-haired teen, Riku. Roxas had vacated the table almost immediately, ignoring Demyx as if he wasn’t even sitting there – which, he supposed wearily, was better than some last, finger-shaking warning to keep his mental-ward tendencies to himself.

Finding those clear, calm eyes boring into him made Demyx flinch like they were a pair of headlights stuck on high-beam. “I’m walking you to your next class, as well,” Sora told him without being asked, regarding him carefully. “We have it the same, the three of us. Gym. It’s why Axel got me to grab you.”

Riku shifted, slightly restless beside him, a finger tapping on the tabletop as the cafeteria steadily emptied, but made no comment on their lingering. Demyx, meanwhile, perked slightly, interested.

“…Gym?”

Gym, he could do. He wasn’t a huge sports person, but he had a natural athleticism and height that the basketball coach at his old school nearly wept to find out was being wasted on the pursuit of fame and glory in the realm of music. The day so far had been boring as hell, along with the added bonus of shredded nerves, simply because he barely knew what he was supposed to be doing. Throw gym into the mix, though, and there wasn’t much he _needed_ to know. Run around, throw stuff; it was all good. Demyx could _do_ that. And to top it off, he had someone half-friendly walking him there. A cautious, twitching smile touched the teen’s lips as he nodded.

Still, despite the faint lift in spirits, Demyx didn’t stand up again until the room was almost completely clear. It meant that he was, again, going to be entering a full class, be the victim of so many accusing, stunned stares, but at least he didn’t have to face it on his own. That made it a little more tolerable, especially with the end of the day looming so much closer.

At long last, the three boys stood, Riku and Sora shrugging their bags on in silence, Sora’s parka rustling loudly. The kid grabbed his hat off the table, in preparation for the icy outdoors, and the three of them headed for the bright doorway. Demyx trailed a little behind. The cold was going to be as much of a slap as ever – he was attempting to savour the warmth while it lasted. All too soon, though, Riku pushed the door open, holding it for the other two to pass through. The wind hit Dem first, slicing like a knife. His stomach twisted, tongue bitten lightly as he visibly shuddered and wrapped his arms back into their default position of feebly trying to preserve some heat.

This was apparently the last straw for Sora. With a noise of dismay, the boy moved directly into Demyx’s path, stopping him mid-step. “Okay, enough is enough,” he said shortly. He stretched up onto his toes, grabbing Demyx’s chin with one hand, sending his heart thumping wildly, breaths puffing mistily at a suddenly increased rate. Before the blond could wrench fearfully free, however, something was jammed over his head, vision disappearing behind a wall of black. He clutched at his face. Whatever it was, it was itchy, it was blinding, it was – warm?

Hunched over, frozen in the position that Sora had managed to yank him into, Demyx’s lips parted in confusion. The world returned into view a moment later as the kid jerked the thick wool away from his eyes, adjusting his bobble hat on Demyx’s head and ignoring the impossibly wide eyes, the static look of disbelief. Demyx’s brows were arched high, each blink hard-won as he struggle to grasp what had just happened. When finally able to speak again, as Sora stepped back to thoughtfully inspect his work, he stammered, “Wh – wha…” His brows dropped back down, his mouth forming a small circle for a moment, before he was able to manage, “What are you – doing?”

“Sorry about your hair,” the boy replied, sounding not at all genuine, a sharply satisfied expression in place. “But there’s no way I’m letting you go any colder than you need to be. This whole ‘freeze-the-crazy-guy’ thing is screwed _up.”_

Dem’s hands rose slowly, experimentally touching Sora’s hat upon his own head, bewilderment powerful. Riku, standing a little way to the side, was smiling slightly. “Sora’s trying to help you,” he clarified for the baffled blond, earning a hopelessly puzzled glance. Sora, meanwhile, perked an eyebrow, arms folding.

“We need to get going, or Saix’ll have puppies and throw them at us.” He swung out a hand, clapping it briefly against Demyx’s arm, saying, “Come on, it’s this way.” And, just like that, he was walking again, brown spikes bouncing in the wind. Riku tilted his head at Demyx, a silent _‘Coming?’_ , and joined Sora, matching his pace easily. Demyx straightened slowly, fingers still on the woollen hat, a stunned moment passing.

“Demyx?”

The voice came not from the brunet or his friend, who had paused up ahead at the corner of a building and twisted to see what was keeping him, but from the side, bringing his head swinging around. Zexion stood under the sheltering roof of the cafeteria, a wrapped sandwich in one hand, a folder in the other, having come around from the back of the building. Frowning, he called, “Are you all right? Where’s Axel?” When the blond didn’t immediately reply, the man strode out from under the cover, the wind snatching at him. Arriving in front of Demyx, Zexion blinking at his head, the frown increasing. “You’re wearing that ridiculous hat of Sora’s.”

Demyx finally jerked to life again, a spark of anxiety prickling as he quickly blurted, “He gave it to me! To wear! I’m borrowing it – he let me, I didn’t – I didn’t take it.” His voice trailed off, becoming hoarse.

Zexion’s eyes had grown slightly at the outburst, then narrowed as the blond ceased speaking, the two of them now standing in silence. “It’s all right,” he said, after a moment. “I know. I thought I’d already demonstrated in class, Demyx – I don’t think you’re a bad person. I just wanted to know why you were standing out here by yourself.” He smiled slightly, a reassuring expression, short-lived as he turned and saw Sora jogging up.

“Uh, hey, Zex,” the kid greeted, breathless from the cold. He turned his gaze to the blond urgently. “Um, look, Demyx, I know you don’t really know things too well right now, but – I wasn’t kidding about the puppies with Saix. He, uh, he’s actually done that before. The SPCA was called and everything. Can we please get to class now?”

“Where’s Axel?” Zexion’s question was posed to Sora this time, expression back to its flat state. The boy shrugged helplessly, silver parka glinting and shifting. “He called me in just before lunch. Demyx is in our gym class, so…”

Zexion sighed. “The man is incorrigible. I’ll have to speak with him…”

“No! I – ” Two sets of eyes swung towards Demyx, one curious, the other mild. He swallowed, saying nervously, “I don’t mind if it’s Sora for a while, really. I don’t – think – that that Axel guy wants to show me around, so really, it’s, it’s _better_ this way – ”

Zexion spoke over the top of the end of his sentence: “Nevertheless, I’d appreciate his help in this, Sora can’t show you to every class, and that jackass could do with some otherworld culture thrust upon him anyway.” There was a pause, into which Sora sniggered, Demyx unhappily not furthering the argument. It seemed the man had made up his mind, refusing to accept that there could be people out there that didn’t care about the facts of the matter.

Zexion opened his folder, resting it on his arm, ripped out a sheet of paper, slapped it onto the front of the shiny plastic and brought out a pen, clicking it down. For a minute he scribbled, the noise amplified by the hard surface, first at the top of the page, then at the bottom. He stopped, took the pen between his teeth and, holding the paper down with the thumb of the hand still holding his sandwich, used the other to tear it in half. He folded one over, movements efficient, and handed both to Sora. “One is a late note for Saix. It reminds him of animal rights,” the man informed him dryly. “The other is for Axel – give it to him when he takes you and Roxas home, tell him I want it adhered to, or there’ll be trouble.”

Demyx squirmed. “I don’t want to cause problems,” he softly argued. Zexion shook his head quickly, a hint of impatience to the motion.

“You’ll be having problems anyway if he doesn’t set some strict boundaries around you,” he explained. “There isn’t a member of the student body that doesn’t know that Ansem’s current receptionist once burnt down an entire wing of the school – if he makes it known early on that he’s affiliated with you in a positive manner, it’ll mean less chance of aggression from the students once they realise you’re not a _threat.”_

Demyx’s eyelids fluttered slightly. “He… what? Um, am I going to turn up crispy in the gutter if I make him mad?”

Both Sora and Zexion smiled at this, with expressions of varying indulgence. “Don’t worry,” Sora said, patting his arm, hooking their elbows together and steering him around, to face where Riku continued to wait up at the corner, making some frantic gestures from afar. Sora waved back lazily. “If Axel tries anything, Roxas will take care of you. Or, you know, avenge you, at least.” With these comforting words imparted, Sora threw, “Thanks, Zexion,” over his shoulder and started walking quickly, tugging Demyx along with him. Startled, the blond tried twisting, to add his own voice to the thanks, but Zexion was already moving rapidly down the other way, across the icy paving stones.

They reached Riku at the corner, the teen hissing, _“Please_ tell me he gave you a tardy slip?”

“Yeah, relax, we’re cool.” Sora waved a hand dismissively, grabbing the boy’s upper arm as they passed, the three of them making their way quickly along the various paths, through the buildings, until they reached the gymnasium. They entered through a small side door, hurrying along a gleaming hallway, halogen lights glaring down. Sora pushed open a large set of double-doors as they reached them and broke into a run, holding up the scrap of paper as he went, calling, _“I’ve got a note from Zexion!”_

Demyx entered the gym alongside Riku, long past being surprised by the fact that that so much of Midgar mimicked his own world, and many others, from what he’d learned in the couple of months he’d been here. It really appeared that great minds _did_ think alike, no matter where they were from, or how much distance between them, and this extended even to gymnasium architecture. The scuffed, shining floor squeaked quietly beneath their sneakers. The nearer they got to the knot of students in the centre of the room, the more Demyx lagged. At the core of the group stood a tall, thin man with long, blue hair, and a preternaturally calm expression in place as his gaze passed over the writing of Zexion’s note. “This is fine,” he said shortly, a moment later. He clipped the note to the clipboard he held, writing something carefully on it in pencil. “You boys may go change for class.” Demyx was confused – this was the guy who threw puppies? This – mild… person?

Then the guy looked at him, and the blond locked up. There was a yellowish glaze to his irises, almost sickly looking, holding a piercing, ensnaring, almost hypnotic quality. For a moment, the two gazed at one another, before the man continued to speak, addressing the class at large, voice deceptively hushed. “And here we have before us, children, a prime example of a predator.”

Demyx winced, eyes widening, blinking rapidly. He clutched the strap of his bag tightly, as Sora and Riku ground to a halt, the kid with his hands on Demyx, ready to lead him away. The two younger teens stared at the man, while Demyx closed his eyes, slowly lowered his head, waiting for the assault he knew was coming.

“His kind is feared by all, with excellent reason,” the man placidly continued, never breaking his gaze, even after Demyx looked away. “They are destructive. They are poisonous. They are not like us, in that they either break like pieces of straw… or are just insane enough to survive.”

“I’m not insane.” Demyx’s voice was low, but more than audible in the stillness that had fallen over the assemblage like kids listening to a ghost story. Sora’s fingers were digging into his arm, his good arm this time, blunt nails clutching so tight they managed to pass through the material of the black-and-white sock. But he said nothing in the blond’s defence.

For a moment, unseen by Demyx, a small, cold smirk touched the man’s lips. “One way or another…” He raised his voice, losing the carefully honed knife’s-edge, turning to the class. “I advise exercising extreme caution. When possible, do not engage the tattooed male at my left – ” He gestured with a sweep of one hand. “ – do _not_ make eye contact, do not make any sharp or aggressive moves that could rile it.” Demyx bit his tongue, eyes popping open, chin tucked against his throat. “Remember your fairy stories of wolves dressing up as sheep, children, and I’m sure you’ll end up surviving your senior year.” He scanned them calmly, before turning to where Sora, Demyx and Riku stood, the silver-haired teen’s eyes narrowed, hard, Sora looking stricken. Saix’s gaze fell upon his grip. “I would also recommend against touching it,” he said to the boy. “You never know where it’s been.”

Before Sora could respond, sucking in a breath that sounded more like a choke, Demyx quickly tugged free, turned, and made his lone way across the gym to where the bleachers stood. He was well aware, by now, that he wouldn’t be participating in the afternoon’s activities. He felt light-headed, fighting with every ounce of strength to not stumble on his way, to keep his path straight. He climbed the steps, found somewhere to sit, and gathered his bag onto his thighs.

“You _can’t –”_ He froze as Sora’s voice finally coughed out, filled with outrage, lowered with shock. “He’s _not –”_

“Riku, take Sora, and the pair of you change. You will be required to shower for ten minutes longer after class, to make up for any infection you may have picked up from the mad-worlder. If you argue, there will be consequences. I assure you, I’m well within my rights.” The scarred teacher threw a glance at his clipboard. “After all, I doubt even the SPCA would bother to come out for it.”

Sora twisted, his wide eyes falling upon the blond in the bobble-hat, who had reached his limit and as a result calmly disconnected from the proceedings. Demyx didn’t see as Sora was led away by Riku, too busy with his cell phone, the address book open and the single name within lit up.

_Auron._

The hand holding the phone shook, just once, before tucking the device away, drawing out instead the history book Paine had recommend he peruse in order to have a goddamn clue what they were talking about during class. He withdrew the green highlighter Auron had bought him a couple days previously for just such an occasion, and steadily marked passages that struck him as memorable. It was like reading a story-book; names he’d never heard of, faces he’d never seen, dates that meant nothing. An entire universe he’d spent his entire life never knowing existed, that he now told himself he was interested in learning about. Fascinating.

The slap of feet, the screech of a whistle, the _thunk_ of balls on the hard floor, shouts and exclamations… all were far away, in the background, they didn’t pertain to this moment and never would. Demyx’s face was creased fiercely with the strength of his concentration, determined to stay – away. He didn’t want to be an _it._

Despite the blond’s efforts to ignore the world, time managed to crawl. There was only so long that he could stare at the pages and actually be taking information in. Instead, his thoughts wandered, to blank, grey places, whatever bubble that had been forming from the efforts of Zexion, Sora, and to a lesser extent Paine, deflating, fading, leaving nothing in its wake. Abruptly, he was exhausted. He reached up, carefully pulled the bobble-hat from his head, absently feeling his hair to gauge the damage. At last, at long last, the teen glanced up.

People were looking back.

He shivered, his eyes roving over the thirty or so students running up and down the two broad courts, hardly any of them actually focusing on the game – too intent on making sure he hadn’t moved, wasn’t coming, didn’t have that _glint_ in his eye that bespoke of demonic influence and bloodlust. The trickle of mournfulness he experienced was cold along his insides – his world hadn’t been that _bad._ But now it was labelled as mad and dangerous – and he was one of its few direct inhabitants. _Ex…_ inhabitants. Because he inhabited _this_ place, now. Much to their… communal dismay.

Demyx dropped his gaze back down, frustration stapling creases through his features, quickly smoothing back out the second he realised he was scowling. Hurriedly, he packed away his book and  marker, stood, and slung the black strap that had been his constant companion all day long across his chest, the comforting weight of the bag thudding at his thigh. Demyx adjusted his arm-sock, shooting a final glance down at the lonely looking, brightly-coloured hat he’d left upon the bench, and started walking. He didn’t know what the time was, didn’t know how long there was left of this lesson, or what the yellow-eyed puppy-chucker might say, but there wasn’t a chance he was sticking around any longer. No one had made any rules in the mighty goddamn ShinRa organisation that stated he had to adhere to a timetable – he was blowing the joint.

His strides were long, his jaw set, a look of supreme blandness on his face as he descended the stairs and headed straight for the double-doors. There was a breathless call after him – Sora – but other than that, no one interfered. Not even Saix – especially not Saix. The man watched mildly from the sidelines, a stopwatch in hand, the blond’s developing absence not even registering an emotion on his narrow face. He called Sora back to the game, and Demyx walked out.

.o.O.o.

Demyx floated home. His steps were light, and evenly measured. His features were soft, eyebrows neutral, mouth unreadable. His grip on his bag was natural, knuckles the colour of flesh; his eyes were not dull, were not glittering, were not pinched at the corners. His muscles were loose, casual, everything about him holding a sense almost of grace as he walked the paths, crossed the streets, passed the doughnut shop on the corner, travelling the invisible lanes that automatically parted for him through the pedestrians, their eyes staring, their fear palpable.

He reached his apartment building, mounted the cold stairs, the thud of his sneakers rhythmic, sedate. When he reached his landing, stopped at his door, his grip on the handle was almost gentle, fingertips ghosting the brass, the key sliding in like the caress of one lover to another, twisting with infinite kindness, patience and understanding. And when, at first, the metal jammed, he simply turned it back, pushed forward with encouragement, unlocked it on the next try. The door swung smoothly open, drifting back to click quietly behind him, deadbolt sliding into place, slow and deliberate.

Demyx wandered to his room, leaving his bag on the bed like he was placing down a delicate jewel, one which might break at the slightest disturbance. He went to the kitchenette, bent at the cupboard below the sink, pulled out the industrial-sized bottle of cream cleanser for baths and tiles, a scouring pad, and bleach. He straightened, went to the bathroom, stepped into the shower and lowered to his knees. The cleanser formed shapes and patterns as he squeezed it out onto the grid of small, dull brown tiles, its disinfecting smell a tonic for his nerves. Demyx studied it for a moment, in serious repose.

Then, he started scrubbing.

His fingers dug deep into the metal pad, its wires cutting into his skin as he rose on his knees, leaning down, hunched over. His arms moved slowly to begin with, then faster, muscles tightening. He scratched and scoured, flattened himself to ease the building ache in his shoulders, until his nose was an inch from the ground. His face morphed slowly, a small frown forming at first, marring the perfect tranquillity of his features. Then it deepened, until, to look at it, one would think he was puzzling out a difficult problem. His lips parted, teeth only just visible, a sliver of saliva glinting, and, coupled with the previous expression, it would have been a fair assumption to say the blond was mired in deep discomfort, perhaps pain. His breaths increased, long, drawn-out hisses becoming a rapid pant as the minutes grew longer, eyes widening. Fear was what it looked like, in that moment, superficially.

That’s when his wide eyes narrowed. It was at _that_ point that Demyx’s mouth peeled back from his clamped-together incisors, nose wrinkling upward, eyebrows plunging low. Grunts escaped his throat like whispered whimpers, never getting to the scream he knew was building.

It was then, only then, trapped inside his freezing apartment, on his hands and knees in the bathroom, arms moving with blinding speed, effort enough to remove chips of mortar, negating the effect of all that his cleaning did, that the fury shone through. It howled out of him, filling the recess like a black wind, reinfecting as it met the wall and swept back through the teen. It was in his sweat, in his spit, in the scent and heat that rose from his body as it heated properly for the first time all day. It was in the wilting of his hair, the cling of his lashes as the perspiration stung his eyes, it was in every breath, every movement, every heartbeat. Hot, wild, fiery rage, an ebony, abyssal emotion that devoured and scraped raw.

When Demyx was done with the shower, he washed it out, the needles of water exploding from the showerhead, slamming the ground like mortar shells. Next, he moved to the basin. He made that bastard glisten. He scraped the minute, hidden edges around the faucet with his fingernails to dislodge any lurking mould that thought it would fester unseen. He unscrewed the little caps declaring the taps to be hot or cold, polished their tops, made every swirl shine, twisted them back in and made them _tight._ Then came the mirror. He grabbed the glass cleaner from its place below the basin and sprayed it over the reflective surface, snatching up a towel and wiping it til it squealed with each stroke.

The toilet was filled with bleach, the transparent, sharply-scented fluid glugging, splashing a little back onto his hands, hot little dots. He took up the toilet brush, attacked the bowl with vigour. When he was dizzy from the fumes, he staggered out, headache pounding at his temples, eyes feeling swollen in their sockets, the world swimming. It was such a small space. Fresh air was gasped in, the blond tumbling momentarily to one knee, dragging his way back to standing and stumbling on.

Next, came the floors. He rolled up the two rugs Auron had brought over at Lucrecia’s behest to warm the wood as much as possible, one in the bedroom, one in the lounge, and threw them onto the sofa. Noticing the light pouring through the blinds, feeling suddenly exposed, Demyx lunged for them, snapped them shut, plunging the room into gloomy dimness. He grabbed the broom, started sweeping. Auron had promised to help him find a vacuum cleaner sometime, which would make the process faster, more efficient. When all non-existent dust was scooped up, disposed of, on came the polish, four cans of it purchased the other day along with the three kinds of sugar that Auron had tried to reject in his coffee. He sprayed the floorboards, wiped them clean, sprayed, wiped, got dizzy all over again and slumped for a couple of minutes onto his face, elbows jammed into the wood, nose and eyes aching. Above the smell of cleaner, Mako permeated.

Demyx inhaled polish and coughed harshly. He pushed slowly up onto his hands, staring flatly at the floor. No matter how hard he polished it, he could never see his fucking face in its dull _fucking_ surface. It was his life’s – _aim –_ to one day find himself staring back, to see the shade he had become.

Demyx exhausted himself. When the flames finally guttered and died, he was ragged, raw. Hands dry and cracking, shaking, he took himself over to the couch, lowered down gingerly, lying on his side with his head on the hard arm, knees tucked up. He slept for a while, and didn’t awaken until Auron knocked several hours later. Demyx’s eyes opened to darkness, still and calm around him, a sliver of light creeping under the apartment’s front door.

He sat slowly, head heavy from the fumes’ aftermath. For a long minute, he rested with his elbows on his knees, hands dangling between his legs, concentrating on his breathing, on not feeling sick. He dragged his fingers down his face, then pushed them through flattened hair, inhaled slowly, deeply, and stood. He went to the door, hesitating with his hand on the lock before sighing, opening it up.

Auron stood in the hallway, a carefully bland look in place, a plastic shopping bag dangling from one large hand. “Can I come in?” he asked, making the blond quirk a tired eyebrow. Wordlessly, Demyx stepped back, then went around switching on lights as the red-clad man stepped inside the apartment, closing the door quietly, re-engaging the bolt.

Auron entered the kitchen as Demyx went down the short passageway to the bathroom. It still stank thickly of bleach. The blond had forgotten to flush the chemical away. He did so now, its noise a roar in the silent, cramped quarters. Running a thin trickle of hot water out of the impeccably clean tap, able to see his misshapen, bulging reflection in its silver surface as he leaned over, Demyx gathered a handful of the fluid and rubbed it over his weary eyes to rid them of the stinging. He slapped his cheeks lightly, the taut tapping made sharper by the water. He massaged his knuckles into his temples.

Feeling human enough to assume his happy face, the blond went out to join his guardian, who clanked quietly in the kitchen. The kettle was on, reaching boiling point. Mugs had been placed on the bench, tea-bag strings that Demyx didn’t remember buying dangling down their solid white sides. Two large dinner plates had been set out further along the counter, knives and forks glinting neatly side-by-side between them. Auron moved with calm assurance, familiar with his surroundings. As Demyx arrived, rubbing one arm awkwardly, eyes ticking over the different points of activity, Auron, who was now adding sugar to his tea, said over his shoulder, “There’s food in the bag. Set it out for us.”

Demyx cleared his throat and nodded, opening the bag on the counter, warm condensation leaking down its inner walls. The large alfoil tray at the bottom was hot, its white cardboard lid discoloured with oil pressing through from the other side. The blond unbent the tray’s edges and pulled off the lid to reveal the meal his guardian had brought. “It is vegetable, right?” he found himself automatically asking, even as his nose detected no scent of dead, roasted flesh. Auron merely grunted in response, pouring hot water into their mugs.

Demyx grabbed an egg-flipper from one drawer and served steaming portions of lasagne onto each plate, wrapping the bag around the now-empty tray and disposing of it into the small garbage bin beneath the sink. Tasks finishing to synchronisation, each man took a mug and a plate, knife and fork sliding a little on the white surface, and went out to sit on the sofa. Well accustomed to the place by now, each of them placed their tea to one corner of the couch, on the floor, where it could cool without being knocked.

As Auron went straight to eating, single eye focused solely on his food, jaws working steadily, Demyx sat for a while, staring tiredly at the closed blinds. His cutting implements remained still in his grasp, loosely gripped. It wasn’t until Auron glanced over, having almost finished his own, that he noticed. His chewing slowed, paused, a mouthful swallowed bit by bit before he asked, “Aren’t you hungry?”

Demyx shrugged faintly, that dazed look never leaving his features. Eyebrows rising slightly, he softly replied, “Starved.”

Auron stared for a moment, then gave up on dinner, leaving the remains in the middle of his plate as his knife and fork clinked together. A moment passed. “I got a call from the school today.” He sucked the food from his teeth, watching Demyx for a reaction. When none came, he added, “So did Hojo.”

Demyx jumped a little, gasped a little, head twisting, showing expression at last in the form of flickering fear and dread. “Hojo? They called him?”

Auron shrugged. “Actually, they got Lucrecia.” He leaned forward, fixing the blond with a meaningful look as he stood to take his plate to the sink. “You got lucky,” was all he said.

Demyx was back to staring at the blinds, wrestling with his fading spike of panic, the sudden realisation of having behaved idiotically, and the remaining, gut-deep, slow-burning resentment. He blinked back the prickling threat of tears and started eating. His lasagne was cold by this point, its pasta crust hard with cooled oil, but he hadn’t eaten since the bagel. Once he began, his body took over, desperate for sustenance, and regardless of what had happened to him during the daylight hours, he all but inhaled it. Auron came back, sat down, picked up his mug and nursed it, taking small sips. A great air of non-judgement radiated from the man, setting Dem’s nerves on edge. He realised, as he placed the last mouthful between his teeth, that an explanation was going to be required, and that it was going to sound _trite._

_The big bad gym teacher was mean to me._

So what? I wasn’t like it had never happened before.

_He called me ‘it’._

So do a lot of people. Thicken your skin or be prepared for a lifetime of feeling like shit. Hell, the conversation didn’t even need to take place. Demyx already knew everything that was going to be said, already understood he’d overreacted.

But, damn it, it had been so nice to not feel like a freak for a while. And that had been shattered.

Demyx slumped back into the old green couch, legs stretched out, one heel bumping against the floor. He took a deep breath, and said pre-emptively, “I know.”

Auron sent him a mild look. “What do you know, Demyx?”

The blond’s features twisted exasperatedly, the plate bobbing on his thighs as he shifted his feet, voice strained as he answered, “I just _know,_ okay? I know, I know, I _know._ I know I screwed up. I know I shouldn’t have run off before I was allowed to. I know I shouldn’t have let that _jerk_ get under my skin.” These would have been dangerous words around Hojo – such an attitude would have suggested _‘aggressive tendencies’._ Auron, however, understood that he was _human._ If ShinRa was made up solely of Aurons, Dem could have told the blue-haired freak where to shove it right at the time, but instead… “I _shouldn’t_ have left,” he sighed. “But I did. I came straight home – I’m sure you could find a flock of terrorised bystanders to testify as witnesses.”

Auron grunted, a thumbnail picking some stray vegetable from between his teeth. “And then you cleaned.”

Demyx asked sharply, “Am I not allowed to clean anymore?” Moodily, he climbed to his feet, took his plate out. He washed their dishes, putting them up to dry, then was startled to turn and find himself face to face with the guardian, his expression grim.

 “Next time, call me. Let me know _before_ the school, so I can at least tell them, ‘Yes, one of your misinformed students and/or staff members pushed my charge to a point where he felt too intimidated to continue’ rather than ‘What? He’s not with you?’” He stared the blond down. “You’re not required to put up with cruelty, Demyx, but you are required, by law, to let your guardian know precisely where you are at all times, and why. Unpredictability is something you _cannot_ afford to demonstrate.”

Demyx leaned against the counter, a hand over his face. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Fine. It won’t happen again.”

“I gave you my number for a reason,” the man continued relentlessly. “So that you could call when bad situations arise, or ones that make you overly uncomfortable.”

“This whole _thing_ makes me overly uncomfortable,” the blond miserably wailed, throwing his hands up. “I don’t _want_ to go to _school,_ Auron, I already _did_ all that. Neither of us knows what I’m supposed to do, I spent my whole time trying to look as small and unthreatening as possible, and – I mean, I’ve been thrown to the _lions.”_

Auron’s gaze was intent, a hand splaying on the counter. “Why? Were people aggressive with you? Were you abused? If you don’t tell me, I can’t help.”

“I don’t – ” Demyx stopped, bit the tip of his tongue sharply. His arms crossed over his chest, chin lowering. He scowled. “I don’t want to come running to you with all my problems,” he muttered. “I want to know how to do it _myself._ I can’t spend – the rest of my life, just…”

Auron held up a callused hand, a surprisingly gentle gesture. “Okay, Demyx. I understand. I advocate that, because I know myself that I can’t spend the next several years of our lives protecting you from the world – it’s just not feasible.” He mimicked Demyx, folding his arms, regarding the boy steadily. “But it doesn’t mean you’re alone in all this, and it doesn’t mean you _can’t_ ask for help. Just remember that – it’s your _choice_ whether you face something on your own or not. No matter what comes up.”

Demyx rubbed his forehead, nodded, then asked in a pained manner, “What did Lucrecia say? Did you talk to her?”

Auron snuffed a laugh. “She chewed me out.” He forestalled the blond’s dismay. “And I’ve chewed you out, so now we’re even.” He left his empty mug on the counter. “I convinced Lucrecia to leave your appointment for Saturday – she wanted to schedule an emergency one for tomorrow morning, but I figured you’d both need time to collect your thoughts on the matter. She’s far too inclined towards overreaction, which is the last thing you need.”

Demyx followed him out of the kitchen, the pair resuming their positions on the sofa. Auron dragged the television around on its portable stand, switching the heavy dial to the side to turn it on, adjusting the volume. Some car-chase scene came on in black-and-white. While the man was more than content to just sit and focus on the set, Demyx fidgeted uneasily. “Is – Lucrecia… going to tell Hojo?”

“No.” Auron was watching TV now. Answers were restricted to single-syllable monotone. He broke this rule, as the blond slowly relaxed, only to say, “Drink your tea. I got it especially for calming the nerves.” Dryly he added, “I figured it could counteract this morning’s coffee.”

It was as cold as dinner had been by the time he got to it, but Demyx dutifully drank it down. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was the effects of the tea, or the boring show, or just an overwhelming accumulation of everything that had happened, but after the blond had spent a minute or two resting his eyes, he opened them to darkness, an empty apartment, the TV back in its position against the wall, and a blanket tucked around his shoulders. There was a lingering trace of lasagne and Auron on the air. Demyx gathered the blanket, stood unsteadily, and shuffled off to bed.

 


	5. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

_Demyx was asleep, a deep, heavy slumber that sank through every muscle, weighing him exhaustively to the bed, so that even as he slept, he could feel the need for more, yet more. It reached him in his unconsciousness, made the flickering alertness of his mind groan and beg for longer, desperate to be rid of this sinking, swirling sensation, knowing that no amount of hours could ever possibly sate it._

_A shift at the foot of the bed stirred him, a weight pressing the mattress down, a person. The blond dragged himself from the miring depths with a frown, opening bleary eyes, messy head lifting from the pillow like a rock struggling to rise. Zexion had one bare foot up on the bed, tucked into the opposite thigh, the other leg hanging to the floor as he gazed out the window. It took a long moment for his presence to register in Demyx’s head, the blond sitting slowly, arms like lead, legs reluctant to obey. Zexion turned his head at the movement, stared at him dully, and asked, “Did you do your reading like I asked?”_

_Demyx blinked, rubbed his face clumsily. “I forgot.”_

_He pushed back the covers, slung his feet out onto the hot wooden floor, noticing that the walls were plastered with posters: musicians, movies, bands, a couple of plays. His roll-top desk was open and waiting, the forgotten book lying within ready reach. The heat from the wood seared his soles distantly, and though Demyx was aware he was in pain, he couldn’t feel it sharply enough to let it override the urgency he had to read the book that his teacher had asked him to. The fact that the title was to do with history meant nothing to him; Zexion wasn’t confined to things like classes, subjects – if he had told Demyx to read it, then history must have been what he wanted him to learn, English be damned._

_As Demyx reached the book, its cover hard and shining, the room went dark; he was plunged into an oily blackness, ink-deep. Breath catching, silent to his ears, he turned, eyes going to the window, to where his teacher sat, only Zexion was no longer in place. The instant that Demyx took a step towards the bed, hands clamped over his upper arms, an iron-grip from behind. Auron’s voice breathed into his ear, “You don’t need to put up with cruelty,” but when his head turned sharply, fear spiking, he found himself staring into Zexion’s visible, glittering eye, the man’s expression impossibly hard._

_There was a pulse of hot light from without, the window’s glass shaking out of existence, the world rumbling violently, though the blond felt no motion beneath his feet. Then, the smell began, came wafting faintly to olfaction sensitive to one particular scent above all others – meat. Dead and dying meat._

_Zexion’s arms slithered over his shoulders, wrapped around his neck, and Demyx shuddered. His touch was slick, icy, with a rubbery undertone._

_They stood there, intertwined, the blond’s head lowered as Zexion breathed on his neck, cold. Though the man was slightly shorter than him, he managed to envelop Demyx, encompass him. The air from his lungs was… rancid._

_Demyx snapped, thrust backward with all his heavy strength, feet barely able to grip the ground, muscles weak and sleepy, but somehow it was enough to drive the man against the desk, break his hold enough for the blond to slip free, gasping and gagging as the stench only grew more powerful. Never pausing to see the horrific half-eaten state that he knew had gripped his educator – fangs, claws, decay setting through his flesh, marbling it like a true undead creature of the night – Demyx fled the room of his childhood home, flew down the hallway, choking and crying as the fleshy smell wrapped around him, more fetid with every moment. Bodies littered the house, twisted, broken, throats slit, skin burnt away, jaws broken and hanging, gaping, boneless, only bone, but Demyx couldn’t scream. Panic pounded his temples, tore into his heart and set it alight, spreading violent flames through every vein._

_The exhaustion was worse than ever, dragging at him, sending him stumbling, almost tumbling to the ground, trying to twist his tired ankles as he vaulted down the staircase, hands clenched around the banister. His chest was trying to erupt with the force of his terror, but his eyes were trained upon the front door, so close now, so very probably locked, sealed, keeping him trapped within this open grave until the corpses came back to life and chose him for their next meal._

_But, of course, the door did open._

_Light poured over him, washed through him, brighter than day, harsher than the sun directly in his eyes, piercing, stripping. Demyx staggered to a halt, threw his arms over his face, the house disappearing behind him, vanishing out of sight as the grassy field took dominance, its spotlights pinning him like the starved eyes of predators. There was a brief silence, in which a coldness washed over him, made his jaw clench, made him shiver desperately. Then, a voice, loud and distant, coming over a megaphone. The words, though, he couldn’t make out; they were fuzzy, blurred, thick, nonsensical. Demyx wanted to scream that he couldn’t hear, but there was nothing more than a whisper in his throat. He wailed, he tried so hard, he pushed and fought with his own body, but all he did was end up inhaling sharply, and suddenly the dead aroma was overwhelming._

_His face came around, wracked with revulsion and horror, to see the pile… One body stacked upon another. They didn’t look like zombies. They didn’t look like something from a movie. They looked… like dead people. Dead people. Ones like him, that couldn’t hear, couldn’t speak._

_And then the pain came, as he gazed hopelessly at his predecessors. The bullets came. They ripped through him, and Demyx knew he’d be part of the pile before long._

.o.O.o.

The blond woke up with vomit already in his throat, tears in his eyes. It took him all of three seconds to thrust away the tangle of covers and launch across the room, then the hallway, to collapse, gagging, in front of the toilet. All it required was a brief flash of memory of the dream, coupled with the stench that hung in the air, and he was losing last night’s dinner to the pristine white depths, choking and retching. The strangled noises echoed in the tiled space, the rest of the apartment utterly silent. Darkness filled each doorway, daylight an unknown distance away.

Spitting, throat sore, Demyx sat back enough to flush the mess away, then leaned over again and hung there for a while, gripping the seat, eyes closed. There was still a chemical bite to the bowl, which covered a little of the strong smell filling his apartment. It made his spine crawl, his stomach twisting painfully, bile rising at the back of his oesophagus. He sniffed hard, at last sitting back, settling his teeth around the hard edge of his knuckles to rest there gently. His sweat cooled, then went cold, the chill finally starting to pierce the fog that the nightmare had wrapped around him. Demyx, in yesterday’s rumpled sleeveless shirt and jeans, feet bare, shivered hard, just once, a slight exhalation puffing out with it.

When he breathed in, he tasted meat. Bacon. It was six in the morning, and the neighbours downstairs were cooking breakfast.

He gagged again violently, threw himself away from the toilet and crawled back to the bedroom, yanking open the bedside drawer, digging through the change and debris til he found his phone. His thumb dialled quickly, while his spare hand went to the next drawer, started pulling out fresh shirts. Auron answered with his usual calm, Demyx talking before he could even get a ‘hello’ out of the way. “I’ve gotta get out,” he barked, vocals rough and sore from stomach acids. “They’re doing it again, they’re cooking it, _please come and get me!”_

He was freezing, muscles trembling with a will of their own as the faintest glow of light became visible through the blinds, the slow-rising sun making its first tentative surveillance of this world and its inhabitants, one of which was dressing as fast as his stiff-jointed limbs would allow. His fingers were numb, the air painful to inhale at this early hour, pulled jerkily into his lungs.

Squatting, Demyx grabbed his satchel, jamming the phone in next to the jumble of things he’d picked up either along the way yesterday or from Auron. The perspiration still finely layered his skin, a combination of the sickness of his dream and his waking suffering. It made the shaking worse, made concentration a task as he gathered everything he thought he might need for the day before standing sharply, slinging the strap over his head. He gasped a breath through his mouth, covered it with one hand, and hurried out to stand by the front door.

Away from the strongest point of infiltration, Demyx’s racing heartbeat gentled just the slightest amount, easing the pounding through every capillary that made him feel like something was going to rupture. His head ached, an all-over throb as he leaned against the wall, eyelids slipping shut, hitching in each sharp, uneven breath like hiccups after tears. He made sure to not inhale through his nose, careful to not take any more of that air into his body. He’d already endured a lifetime’s-worth of it.

Behind closed lids, events replayed, both real and dream-contrived. The teen’s teeth grated together, the dull ache spreading down to encompass his jaw, never far off in the first place. Lucrecia told him he needed to stop this; the grinding was going to damage his teeth. But Demyx… he couldn’t. He had no control over it. Just like… everything else.

Auron arrived in record time, the blond hearing his heavy steps before he even reached the door, swinging it open to meet him, exiting into the hall before the man could try and enter the apartment, talk him down, make coffee to mask the scent he knew would continue to linger long after he was gone. Whipping out his key, trying to hide the jump and jitter of his hand as he locked up, Demyx flashed a bright smile over at the guardian, who had stopped and was watching warily. “Morning, Auron! I figured we could, you know, go for a bagel again, that really did me good yesterday, I think. I didn’t even throw it up like I thought I would!” He stepped away from the apartment, started walking swiftly down the hall, the man falling automatically into step beside him. “Man, I can already taste the coffee,” the blond added with strained cheer, happy expression never wavering.

Auron played along, allowing the bluff with weary understanding. The pair exited out into the sunlight, fiery orb only half-risen, sending watery rays through the already busy streets. The traffic in Midgar never really did die down, never gave way to a hush. Demyx was growing used to the constant noise, the engines, the voices, the drag racers in the deeper hours of the morning.

The cold was vicious. In his vulnerable state, the blond had forgotten to prepare himself for its cut, and shuddered hard, whimpering, winding his arms around his torso with all the effectiveness of someone trying to ward off a mortal blow with a feather. Tears sprang automatically to his eyes, and for a moment, it was all he could do to stand awkwardly in the centre of the pavement and recognise that the pain wasn’t going away. His expression crumpled briefly, allowing Auron a brief glimpse of the depths of his distress, the way he doubtless remembered it from when Demyx had lived at his apartment those first two weeks after being released from ShinRa’s direct care.

There were few pedestrians at this time, the sidewalk for once empty of fear. Demyx’s exhaustion, never far at bay, rose anew to swallow him. He drew a shivering breath, teeth chattering noisily. His head rose slowly in the near-darkness, meeting Auron’s patient gaze. Tightening his grip around his rigid frame, he shifted to meet the man. They walked, the thud of Auron’s boots oddly comforting in their steadiness. Demyx found himself focusing on the sound, the clop… clop… clop as they went down the sidewalk, his own sneakers slapping softly in a more irregular pattern between them. The wind blew, sharp as ever, the blond quietly watching the cracks in the pavement as small tremors wracked his body.

The older man kept his gaze straight ahead, flat, allowing Dem his privacy in these moments, the opportunity to pull himself together properly. He knew the farces the boy liked to play, knew it was inherent to his coping, and wasn’t stupid, stubborn, or qualified enough to try and force him out of it. Instead, he reached into one pocket and pulled out a comb, silently passing it over. Blinking, the blond accepted it, hesitated, then started tidying his bed-hair.

By the time they reached the doughnut place, Demyx was sufficiently recovered, his smile thin and mostly false, but present. Auron entered first, holding the door for his charge, the blond slipping through into the warmth of the store, eyes fixing onto a booth at the back, mostly hidden from view. The coffee shop was almost empty at this time of morning, the sound of grinding beans filling the air noisily. A couple of truck drivers by the window eyed Demyx, something dark lurking in their expressions as their gazes fell, inevitably, upon his arm; but Auron’s presence was deterring. There was something about the man that extended easily over the blond teen, who, though aware of the looks, had yet to experience whatever violence might be loaded behind them.

He slipped nervously into the booth, out of sight against the wall, shoulders instinctively hunching. Auron ordered their drinks, and, for the minutes that he was alone, Demyx buried his face into his bag, which was propped on the table. His eyes slipped shut of their own accord, lids heavy, muscles drained, stomach unhappy for multiple reasons. Really, the caffeine was just going to make matters worse in that regard, consumed on a now-empty stomach, but the blond couldn’t have cared less about physical complaints – it was his mind that needed soothing more than anything right now.

He sucked in a breath, able to inhale safely in this meat-free environment, the only scents on the air that of sweet breads, pastries, and coffee, with an underlying hint of fried cheese. In such a cosy atmosphere, it was easy to start falling asleep. When Auron came over, Demyx was relaxed, face turned to the wall, obviously dozing. The man slid into the seat opposite, placing the tightly-sealed disposable cup at Demyx’s elbow, its rich scent stirring the blond. He lifted his head, blinking sleepily, saw his beverage and smiled. No words were exchanged as the two began their coffee breakfast, the silence weary, but comfortable.

Demyx peeled back the lid on his drink, steam rising up to his cold, chapped lips, hot and satisfying. He blew gently at it, his equally chilled hands, yet to warm despite being indoors again, wrapped around the cup. He sank down on his elbows, face hanging over the heat like a steam-treatment, breathing in the white, smoky ribbons, eyes slipping shut again.

It was as he’d lowered to take his first tentative sip that Auron quietly said, “We’ve got another meeting with Ansem before school starts.” Demyx’s lips paused, then touched the coffee, burning just slightly. He shrugged a little, but his mood darkened, a little of the tremulous gloom threading through the façade of normalness he struggled to maintain. The man added, “I’ll make sure it’s quick.”

Demyx kept his eyes low, and drank his coffee. Auron got up after a while, ordered a pastry, and slid it under his nose as he brooded into the murky depths of his caffeine. Demyx blinked, saw slivered almond over a glaze, picked it up and silently started eating.

Human traffic picked up as an hour crawled by, the little bell over the door jingling and jangling as people fluctuated between the warmth and the cold. A fine smear of powdered sugar spreading without the blond’s knowledge along one cheek, he reached into his bag, brought out yesterday’s history book, flipped open its hard cover and searched slowly through the pages for his previous place, following the trail of green highlighter. “Where’d you get that?” Auron asked, curiously.

Demyx glanced up, met the guardian’s gaze briefly. “School gave it to me. I’m meant to be studying up on local history.” He added in a mutter, as he lowered his eyes back to its pages, “Local meaning ‘the world’.” Another page turned, and the silence resumed. This wasn’t the first time Auron had got an early call from Demyx, and it wouldn’t be the last. It had only been two weeks, but apparently, the apartment down from the blond really liked their meat. Once it started, Demyx was a nervous wreck until he was taken the hell away, set down in his coffee environment, his happy place, and left for the couple of hours before movement was required for appointments, special trips, and now school. It was fine with Auron, never a big conversationalist to begin with, enjoying the fact that he was able to spend some of his time doing nothing but sitting with thoughts in the presence of what he’d expected to be his greatest challenge.

So the sun rose, another spotlessly clear day, all the more bitter for the cold. The overhead fluorescence flickered away, replaced with natural light, an illusion of warmth as it spilled through the windows, spreading through the tables and chairs, touching fingers against Demyx’s shoes, the edge of the book. The time grew near for them to be departing, Demyx’s first class starting at half-past eight. The blond turned his face over towards the light, spread a hand to catch its warmth. It spread over the markings that curved gracefully through the lines of his palm, no section of flesh left untouched by their black permanence. These had been some of the most painful, the tender flesh surrounding his life-line, and the sensitive mound at the base of his thumb. The knuckles had perhaps been the worst, and around his fingernails. It was a curious sensation, to look upon what had been an agony at the time, and feel only sunlight.

Demyx’s voice was soft, eyes fixed on the bright darkness swirling his palm: “Hey, Auron?” The man had his eye closed, seemed to be taking advantage of the quiet time. He grunted his acknowledgement. “This kid at the school – he’s nice – he suggested I get some warmer clothes. Like, for my upper half.” When Auron didn’t respond, he added quickly, “I’d totally cut the left sleeves off of anything. Like – you know my sweaters? We could – ”

“You don’t own sweaters.” The hazel eye flashed open, hard, cold, the guardian’s tone stopping Demyx short. His eyes widened, jaw snapping shut. A breath was sucked in, stinging his nostrils.

“No,” he agreed numbly. For several minutes, neither spoke, Dem’s gaze dropping blindly to the history book. His heart seemed to sink and lodge beneath his lungs.

“Some kid actually cares that you’re cold?” The words were gruff, the man’s gaze elsewhere, on the restaurant patrons. Demyx regarded him solemnly.

“He made me borrow his hat. His name’s Sora.” After a beat, he said, “They put our lockers together on purpose. I don’t know, I guess he doesn’t mind crazy freaks of nature.”

A briefly scathing look was directed sideways. “You’re not.” His eye returning to the shop, Auron murmured, “Bring it up with Lucrecia.” It was like being told to ask his mother. Demyx brightened; Auron wasn’t objecting to the idea. The man didn’t have a ready list of dully-stated reasons why it would be impossible, which pretty much meant it was the equivalent of heartfelt approval, in Auron-ese.

At last, the man declared it time to go. Demyx hastily packed away his book and slid out to join the man as he stood, a hand tucking into the warmth of his dragon-red robes. Auron checked that he was ready, sent a nod to the manager of the place, behind the counter at the cash register. He received a quick one in return, and the pair crossed the shop, exiting into the supreme cold.

Demyx was ready this time, not allowing the icy slap affect him psychologically. He breathed strongly, pushing forward. The two men travelled yesterday’s path, arriving at the high school early again, passing through the gates into the mostly empty yard. Demyx felt frustration anew at having to be anywhere near the place. He stopped, Auron continuing several steps before realising he was alone. He turned, enquired, “Is there a problem?”

Demyx’s face had lost its expression. “I came home early because the gym teacher called me ‘it’, Auron. He told the class I was a predator, and insane.” He was oddly composed, considering the distress it had caused him. “This is just the beginning, isn’t it? And you still want me to attend this place.”

The guardian sighed, rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “One way or another, this has to be done, Demyx. It’s – ”

“ ‘A social experiment as much as an intelligence one’,” Demyx supplied tiredly, cutting him off before he could repeat the same words he’d been uttering as argument since Hojo had first spouted them the previous week. “I know. I just…” He let out a short, mirthless laugh, moving to meet the man. “I was semi-popular at high-school, you know.” He raised a hand, confessed, “Band geek, through and through. The one and only sitar player the school had ever known. I got this – nice chunk of respect for that.” He was quiet for a few moments. “Even if this place has a band… it wouldn’t be good for morale if I joined.” He sent Auron a small, lost smile and resumed walking, this time leaving Auron to be the one to catch up. They entered the school building quietly, making their way to the administration office.

Axel was once again behind the desk, back on his cell-phone, having a hissed argument with whoever was on the other end. _“No, goddamn it, I will not agree to that! Are you out of your fucking_ mind?” He caught sight of them, stopped himself short of slamming the desk and letting out a heartfelt groan, and said, “Marly, I’ll call you back, duty calls.” He hung up, flashed a painfully bright, toothy smile. “Well, good morning, you two. Here for your appointment, I see, bright and early.” He reached over to a pile of papers, flicked through with expert speed, long fingers drawing out one sheet in particular and flipping it onto the counter. He slammed a pen beside it a second later. “Fill this in, I’ll file it in the kid’s perma-record.”

Auron picked up the paper, scanned it, put it back down. “After we’ve spoken to Ansem.”

The redhead hesitated, then shrugged. “Fine, whatever.” He threw a glance at Demyx as he withdrew the sheet to place it instead beside the computer, waving them over to wait on the chairs near the water cooler. As Demyx fidgeted beside a still Auron, he wondered how Ansem would know they were here. Axel wasn’t bothering to go let him know, wasn’t picking up the phone to call through or anything… Unless Ansem could hear whenever someone entered, and was just the type to leave you cooling your heels for a while – very possible, considering the first impression he’d made upon the blond.

When, after some minutes with no obvious effort from Axel, Ansem appeared at the door, a polite smile in place, this theory seemed more likely than ever. “Please, gentlemen, come through.”

Demyx looked over at Auron, suddenly nervous, but the man had already focused his attention solely on the headmaster. Sighing, he followed them into the small office, sat in the same chair, like someone had found the DVD for yesterday and stuck it on loop. He propped his bag on his knees, and waited for the onslaught. In a cream suit and silk cravat, Ansem took his place behind the dark-wood desk, folding his hands on its surface and regarding them with what could almost be described as a kindly expression. Demyx, wary of what lurked below, eyed him cautiously. Auron, beside him, cut straight to business before Ansem could get a word in.

“I’m lodging an official complaint about your gym teacher.” Professor Ansem blinked, Demyx jumping slightly but visibly, head swivelling sharply to stare. Auron continued sternly, “His lack of professionalism is undermining to the healthy young man Demyx is attempting to be. How can he be expected to assimilate safely and effectively into our society while those members of authority under _your_ leadership are destroying every effort ShinRa and its components, affiliates and financiers have made?”

Demyx felt laughter he couldn’t give life to bubbling beneath his skin, spreading through the follicles of his hair, making his fingertips tingle. He gaped. Ansem, similarly gaping, spent a moment silently moving his mouth. Demyx doubted he’d been spoken to like _that_ in a very long time.

Eventually recovering, Ansem asked, voice slightly strangled, “You wish to submit a _formal_ complaint?”

“I see no reason why not,” Auron sharply replied. “The man called Demyx a predator, in full hearing of the other students. If that isn’t a deliberate form of antagonism, _plus_ undoing ShinRa’s efforts – ” Auron was wielding ShinRa’s name like a _bludgeon_ , smashing chunks out of Ansem’s confidence with every mention, “ – I really don’t know what else it could be.” He leaned forward, subtle aggression in his body language that would have got Dem locked up in a heartbeat, saying in low tones, “I shouldn’t have to remind you of the benefits you will receive if all goes well for Demyx in his time here. This is _not_ being done out of the kindness of your heart. So far, all I see is neglect of a student in a highly vulnerable position, and that’s the sort of thing that will see him relocated if necessary. Your academy, Professor Ansem, will have gained nothing but ShinRa’s irritation and contempt.”

Well. Ansem was not a happy gentleman. He looked flustered, frustrated, his expression developing an edge of resentment with a flickering undertone of panic. He sat back in his chair, rearranged his hands for something to do, frowning at the desk. Slowly, he said, “I must admit, this wasn’t what I was expecting when we arranged this meeting, Sir Auron.”

“Neither were Demyx or I expecting him to be victimised in this environment, Professor Ansem,” the guardian blatantly lied in response. “And yet, here we are. You’re more than ready to mar his permanent record, which goes straight into ShinRa’s and Doctor Hojo’s evaluation of him, damagingly so, because he left class rather than put up with the continued discomfort and humiliation which was provided by one of _your_ employees.” He eyed the man, an easily unnerving task with all the intensity of his being focused through his single visual conduit, and said, “We all accept that life isn’t necessarily going to be easy for Demyx. We can’t protect him from everyone, or everything. But there’s not a chance in hell that I’m turning a blind eye to deliberate abuse. It’s too easy for you to sit there and condemn him, when all he’s trying to do is fit the hell in as best as he can.” He eased back, at last relenting in his tirade, his final comment being, “I’ll drop the complaint if you forget about scarring Demyx’s record on his second day.”

Ansem was quiet for several long moments, registering the checkmate that had just occurred. Demyx, chest throbbing, lowered his eyes hastily as the man’s piercing gaze rose thoughtfully. At last, the headmaster nodded once, shortly. “All right, Sir Auron. You’ve talked me out of it.” He frowned at the pair. “I don’t appreciate your insinuations about myself or my staff… but I understand your displeasure. I admit, one of the students from Saix’s class did come in and leave a complaint at the end of the day – unofficial, of course – and since this seems to concur with that, I’m willing to leave it alone.”

Demyx started, blinking. “Someone complained?” His voice was a jarring addition to the proceedings, drawing both men’s eyes almost blankly, as if he had been forgotten. Ansem frowned a little, smiled a little, though it was tight and didn’t reach his eyes.

“Yes, someone did. It seems that you weren’t entirely at fault for what transpired… but please, Demyx, don’t leave school property again. It is a punishable offence within this school, and you are not above being treated just like the other students.”

Auron managed to turn a growl into a grunting cough, stood. “He’ll behave. If that’s all, I’d like Demyx to get to class now.”

He yanked the slow-rising boy to the flats of his feet, the blond masking his stumble by gripping the back of the chair, swinging his bag. He automatically gave Ansem a bright, empty smile and left the room quickly in front of the guardian, who shut the door with perhaps a hair more firmness than was required. He steered Demyx forcefully over to the desk, where Axel, for once, hadn’t instantly leapt back on his cell phone. The man was bent over, hair scraped back into a ponytail which jaggedly pointed into the air as he scribbled furiously in a wide logbook. Rather than break whatever train of concentration he had going, he reached up blindly with his spare hand, touched the form he’d brought out earlier and pushed it towards them with two fingers. He jumped as Auron’s broad palm slammed down on it, stopping his work and sharply raising his eyes. Auron slowly, deliberately, crumpled the paper, tugging it out from under the receptionist’s fingertips. Axel’s lips parted slightly, but the redhead said nothing by way of protest. Instead, his vividly green eyes made their way over to where Demyx stood, taking in the slight anxiety of the boy. He hesitated, then said, “Give me two minutes. I’ll take you to class.”

Auron nodded at this, mollified by his co-operation. He turned to Demyx, studying the boy carefully. “If anything happens today, call me this time. I’ll be down here as fast as I can.” The blond nodded, his guardian clapping him firmly on the shoulder. “Good luck, then. Remember, you don’t have to be their victim.”

The man left in a sweep of red, closing the office door decidedly more softly than he had Ansem’s. Demyx wandered over to the chairs and sat down to wait as Axel finished what he was doing, the printer beside the computer whirring as it rapidly spat out a sheet of paper. The redhead snatched up its offering, adjusting his glasses, squinting through the frames, then rose to his feet, lanky legs pushing the chair carelessly back against the filing cabinets. “Okay, kid, you’ve got Zexy again first up, right?”

Demyx jumped to his feet, approaching the desk. “Uh, do I? I actually haven’t…” He started to reach around for his bag, but Axel waved the paper noisily.

“Got it here, kid.” He turned it around, held it between fingertips for Demyx to blink at. His name was at the top of the sheet, a copy of the timetable he’d tucked into his bag the day before and promptly forgotten about.

“Oh! Uh…” His eyes scanned, saw that English was his first subject for the first two days of the week, after which it peppered the sheet until ending the day on Friday afternoon. “Yeah, okay, sure.”

As Axel wordlessly propped his ‘back in five’ sign up on the counter, Demyx fought the urge to tell him to forget it – he didn’t quite know this way around yet, but he at least had a vague idea where to go. But Zexion had seemed insistent about Axel acting as his guide… for protection, perhaps, if nothing else. And, knowing that he had to take it where it offered itself, Demyx quieted his uneasiness and steeled himself for anything Axel might feel like throwing his way.

Darting him a disinterested look, coming around the desk, Axel flicked a hand for him to follow. “Come on, don’t just stand there.” Demyx hurried to catch up as the redhead exited into the hallway, lowering his head and focusing on not meeting the eyes of any of the other early-arriving students or teachers that traversed the halls. The pair took yesterday’s route, Axel pausing briefly in front of what the blond remembered to be his locker. Instead of slamming a hand in front of his nose, today Axel merely folded his arms, spinning to the teen with raised brows. “You need to use this, or what? Do you have any heavy books yet?”

Demyx blinked, startled, instinctively gripped his bag tighter. “No, it’s fine. I only have – ”

“Fine, just thought you might wanna, you know, not be lugging shit around.” Axel wheeled back around, continuing on without pausing to allow Demyx to collect himself. They mounted the stairs of the gleaming passageway, the redhead leading the way to basic English. He left Demyx there, promising distantly to be back for him when the changeover took place.

For a few moments, the blond stayed where he was, listening to the receptionist’s footsteps receding, sharp and clear in the empty passageway. His hair was the last of him to vanish down the stairs, leaving the blond with a final impression of blazing red before he was alone again. Well, that had been… unexpected. Axel hadn’t made the slightest attempt to bully him. He supposed he should be thankful for that bit of progress… but, all he could thinking about was how nervous he was to be entering the room by himself, to have to face the teacher that had featured in his nightmare, Demyx took a breath, reaching reluctantly for the handle.

Zexion beat him to it.

It swung open as the blond’s fingers ghosted the brass, the motion startling in its sharpness. He blinked up at Zexion and found himself met with eyes which had been warm yesterday, but were, this morning, quite cold. The man gestured the teenager in with a jerk of his head, peering into the hallway as Demyx obeyed with a scurry, then, once he was through, closed the door tightly, following it with a _click_. The sound took a moment to register in Demyx’s mind, insides turning cold as realisation struck.

…Zexion had _locked them in._ Oh, shit. Oh, _shit._

Eyes widening with sudden fear, Demyx quickly backed away, putting a desk between Zexion and himself. From here, he had space to run. He could scramble over desks, throw chairs in his wake to trip his pursuer, or, if pressed, he could throw himself out one of the windows with painful consequences. He might even have a chance to get to the door again, hammer at it until the lock broke… but he doubted he’d achieve that without first having to put Zexion out of commission, which would require a display of aggression, which would find him back in the hospital for God only knew how many months…

Zexion faltered halfway to his desk, noticing the change in Demyx, eyes narrowing with some bemusement. What had been a hard edge in his body language softened slightly. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. He pointed to Demyx’s desk and commanded, “Come and sit, we’re going to have a discussion.”

The blond eyed him warily, jittery from the burst of adrenaline, still unsure of his safety when the door was locked as it was. When, by the time Zexion had seated himself, Demyx had yet to move, the man sighed. “Fine, stay where you are if it makes you happier.” He automatically started gathering papers, tidying the mess of pens that littered the wooden surface. “I’m sure you know what it is I want to talk to you about.”

Demyx pulled in a breath, saying with jerky sharpness, “No, actually. I don’t.”

Zexion paused, looked up, the chill re-entering his gaze. “You. Leaving school. Drawing attention to yourself – negative attention.”

Demyx scowled suddenly, the sort of expression usually reserved for Auron, and demanded, “What do you care if I – ?” He nipped the tip of his tongue, cutting himself off as his brain caught up with his temper. His expression went blank, brow smoothing out. “I apologise for leaving before I was supposed to. I’ve been to see Ansem about it, and I promise it won’t happen again, sir.”

“Cut the crap.” Demyx stared, surprise briefly cracking his mask in the face of Zexion’s flat admonition. The man glared. “Saix’s behaviour was unforgivably selfish, and unprofessional in a man of his position and authority. It is you who should be apologised to, Demyx, not the other way around. However.” His voice became a whip. “You _should_ be sorry for acting recklessly like that. Exactly what kind of impression are you trying to form here? Are you going out of your way to procure negative attention?”

Stung, Demyx struggled to maintain his composure under the assault, eyebrows coming together. “No! I – I didn’t mean to. It’s just that after a while of being insulted and ignored, I just – I don’t know – I figured there was no point to me staying and left. Okay?”

“Not okay!” Zexion gave the desk a small, firm slap for emphasis. “Not okay at all. You are self- _sabotaging,_ Demyx. Not only have you made trouble for yourself by leaving the academy grounds without authorisation, but if you start skipping classes it will cause your grades to slip.”

Demyx opened his mouth, then shut it again. He hadn’t thought of that side of things. Grades? He was being graded? More importantly – why did Zexion care? He wasn’t responsible for Demyx. Yelling at him for doing stupid things was Auron’s job.

They stared at each other for a few moments, Zexion at last shaking his head. “I don’t know what you’ve been told about this series of courses,” he tightly said, “but everything you do here is being observed _._ You are on _display_ , Demyx, showing all the world plus its evaluators exactly the sort of mind you possess.” His eyebrows lowered severely. “You’re _meant_ to be demonstrating an ability to learn. You’re showing them, with every move you make and answer you give, exactly what your level of intelligence is.You are supposed to be proving that you are _not_ mentally below-average, or, if it so happens that you _are,_ that it’s a natural state of affairs and not some birth defect caused by being born on a planet officially known for its _psychotic citizens.”_ He appeared to growing more frustrated with every passing moment, baffling Demyx with how much he seemed to actually give a crap about it all. “Your clever walking-out trick will serve only to mar your record, taking points off of the eventual culmination that comes out of this. Saix can only give a bad report on you if you allow him to, just like the rest of us. Similarly, I won’t be giving you points simply because I know enough to see that the thought of you being a threat is _laughable –_ you will have to prove yourself as much to me as anyone. But I, at least, am not looking for reasons to strike you off.”

Briefly, more agitated by this whole situation than Demyx had first realised, Zexion leaned back in his chair, pushing a hand through his fringe, revealing a glimpse of that second eye. Both were aggravated, for the duration that they held the blond’s stare. Then the hair fell back, Zexion crossing his arms tightly and fixing him with a hard look. “You need to control yourself better than that. There’s too much at stake here. I would be – _so_ disgusted if you ended up getting kicked out, making the name of the ‘mad-worlder’ worse than it already is in the eyes of all these people.” He turned his face towards the door, where shapes were steadily appearing at the mottled glass, students unable to enter, incapable of seeing in. He nodded slightly at them, voice suddenly softer. “They’re your opportunity, you know. This is your chance to show a new wave of almost-adults, poised and ready to flood the world with their ideas and ideals, that your kind is nothing to fear. It might not be much – but it’d be a _start.”_ He turned back to Demyx, who was gazing at the door, looking slightly dazed, a little miserable, exhausted. Zexion rubbed a hand over his face, looking somewhat worn out himself. It had been an intense, if brief, discussion. “And I guess that’s all I have to say. I hope you think on it, at any rate – because I can’t, and won’t, help you otherwise. I’ll match as much effort as you’re prepared to expend, Demyx.” He spent a few seconds scrutinising the blond, silently taking note of his obvious fatigue. “You can take your seat, now,” he told the teen, standing slowly. “That’s all I needed you for. Class is starting.”

Demyx hesitated for a long moment, Zexion watching him closely. Then, shuffling, he made his way to his desk. With a low sigh, Zexion waited until he was sitting, then went to the door and unlocked it. The curious, milling group of students outside entered, their eyes turning instantly cold and suspicious, thin with fear, as they realised it had been Demyx in here. The mad-worlder.

Feeling the weight of their gazes, Demyx wondered, out of everything Zexion had said, how he could possibly, _possibly,_ ever make the name of mad-worlder worse. He was already a monster in all their eyes. His pale eyes flickered up to hesitantly inspect them as they hurried past, then passed over to where Zexion impassively waited for them to all come through, holding the door with a hint of impatience. He actually thought Demyx could change all these minds? By being a good little boy?

Well, it wasn’t like he had a choice in the matter. It was either good behaviour and freedom, with everything that entailed, or a tight, white room with Hojo. No matter what, Demyx had to avoid that outcome. It didn’t matter what he had to endure – he _wasn’t_ going back to that. That was all he’d ever really planned on achieving: continued freedom. He’d never for an instant considered that this could be an opportunity to sway public opinion in any way. It was a nice thought, there was no doubt about it; he just didn’t believe that a life in which people weren’t going to automatically despise him could ever really be possible.

 

 


	6. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

By the time the lunch period rolled around, Demyx felt like a lifetime had passed since he’d started at the academy – never mind that two days ago he hadn’t so much as stepped foot within the place. And… there were three whole months to go. Not to mention that, as unnaturally long as yesterday had seemed to last, that hadn’t even really been a full day.

He was in it for the long haul now, bored, tired, and edgy beyond belief. But then, considering how early the day had started, it was hardly surprising that it seemed to be dragging. He’d been awake for hours upon hours, and was more than ready to find a bed somewhere to catch up on the sleep he’d missed.

Sora eyed him as they walked towards the cafeteria, the bright hat once more jammed upon the blond’s head despite his weak protests. His first encounter of the day with the kid had been after English. Sora had been waiting for him, dressed in his massive jacket and a dark blue beanie this time, in place of Axel, making Dem hesitate warily at the sombre expression he was wearing. His eyes had darted around the hall, still jumpy after being all but cornered by Zexion earlier, the confidence that had been slowly, cautiously rising squashed since the previous afternoon.

Before he’d got a chance to try and duck back into the classroom at the unexpected presence, or even push past Sora and start walking quickly away, the kid, perhaps sensing his skittishness, had grabbed his sleeve and got them moving. Demyx had stiffened, but Sora had glanced up at him sharply, eyes narrowing, and suddenly the hat was slung back over his head, blinding him again. While the blond struggled to free himself, Sora had firmly said, “It’s yours. I have an army of stupid hats at home, you have an _arm sock._ I don’t want it back, so don’t leave it behind again. I’ll be pissed if you lose it.” At this, Demyx had hesitated, lifting the thick wool up to his brows, looking down at the boy uncertainly. Sora was agitated. “Look,” he’d said after several steps of silence, his grip tight on the blond’s right arm, “I want to apologise for yesterday afternoon, okay? I should’ve said something more, but – I don’t know. It felt kind of hopeless at the time.” He’d pressed his lips together unhappily. “I feel like shit about it, and so does Riku – Saix went further than I expected.”

One hand on his head, feeling the soft, colourful hat, Demyx had sent him an uncertain look. His steps were only now evening out from the quick, semi-stumbling pace Sora had set. The boy, it seemed, had said his piece, now staring straight ahead, for some reason refusing to meet Demyx’s gaze.

“…You’re the one that – complained, right?” Demyx had carefully asked. Their speed had abruptly cut down, Sora almost jerking, a surprised look in place. His blue eyes slid over, reserved with shame.

“You found out about that?” He shook his head. “Yeah, I complained. It was… gross,” he said, after a brief search for a word that would cover the situation. “It was gross what happened.” Their steps were loud in the quiet halls. “You deserve better.”

He’d walked Demyx to a social sciences class, the new teacher, introduced as Wedge, regarding him with suspicion, eyes doing the familiar flicker, tension within the room rising sharply. A day like any other. At least everyone here was more or less obligatedto be nice to him, or at least fair – that made it better than grocery shopping, just rather more stationery than Demyx tended to be comfortable with. Movement was usually the key to successfully avoiding aggravation, constant motion that took him away from any aggressive persons as quickly as possible.

Sora had left him to go to his own class, obviously feeling a little lighter for having unburdened himself. Social sciences, Demyx found, was interesting. It gave him good information about this world, current information as opposed to what he was learning in the history class. With Zexion’s earlier lecture in mind, the blond did his best to focus, to absorb the information, but had to admit that he was starting to feel a little grey by that point – washed out. He just needed… a _really_ good sleep, more coffee, another of those almond pastries that Auron had bought him earlier, and some TV time. Or music. Music would’ve been ideal, perfect, _wonderful_ , the absolute release… but, as of yet, Demyx hadn’t seen so much as the neck of an acoustic guitar, let alone his own beautiful, deep-blue sitar.

Then the double period had ended, and Sora had been waiting again, making Demyx wonder if Axel was spontaneously, in the space of a few hours, back to hating him. At this point, he’d neither be surprised, nor particularly care. Maybe it was last night’s bleach fumes catching up or something, but Demyx was getting a headache. He probably could have done with eating something vaguely nutritious, but his stomach was so tightly knotted that anything to enter would inevitably be promptly expelled. He had no appetite in this place.

The squat building of the cafeteria came into view, the metal tables and chairs becoming visible through the floor-to-roof windows, the blond’s nerves winding a notch tighter as he readied himself for the silent walk through their midst. Before they reached the double-doors, however, a subtle grip at his elbow steered him to one side, aiming beyond it. “I spoke to Zexion last night,” Sora said, by way of explanation as they continued along the stone path, “and he doesn’t think it’s a good idea to expose you to crowds, like in the caf. At least, not til they’re all a bit more used to seeing you around the place, you know?” He smiled brightly. “So, I know it’s colder out here, but there’s a nice sunny place in the bleachers by the athletics track where we figured we could go.”

Demyx frowned a little, puzzlement touching his features, and asked, “You were – talking to Zexion last night?”

“Oh, sure,” Sora replied, with an airy wave of one hand. “He’s a friend of ours, part of our group – out of school hours, at least.” He released Demyx’s arm, starting counting off on his fingers, “There’s me and Roxas, Riku, Axel, Axel’s friend Marluxia, Zexion – those three all kinda went to school together – and sometimes Marly’s friend Larxene.” He shifted his shoulders, the padding of his silver parka rustling quietly. “Zexy just called me to see how things were going with you.” He coloured slightly, evidently not over his guilt as he added, “I, uh, told him about what happened.” Demyx nodded vaguely at this. So that was what had sparked the speech before class. Sora shot him an open, curious look, asking, “What about you? Got many friends around town, yet?”

For a moment, the blond stared, uncertain as to whether or not this was his cue to start laughing a little. Sora, it seemed, was serious, though. Hell.

“…Oh!” Demyx grasped for an answer that wouldn’t depress the kid. “Well… there’s – there’s my guardian, he makes sure that I, you know, don’t flip out or starve or whatever. He’s mentoring me. His name’s Auron – he’s nice.” Sora made a noise of encouragement, urging him to continue. “And… there’s Lucrecia.” Demyx took a breath. “She’s nice, too. She – works at the hospital where they kept me the first month. I have an appointment with her this weekend… and – yeah.”

“Yeah?” Sora echoed, smilingly waiting for more. Dem didn’t continue, and for a moment, the kid’s face went blank. He blinked a couple times, apparently grappling with the abrupt end to the list. Slowly, comprehension dawned, followed by a knitting of eyebrows. He hesitated. “And… I don’t suppose that – anyone else from your world came to Midgar with you? Friends, or – or family?”

Demyx slowly, fractionally, shook his head. “No.” His voice had dulled. “They died.”

Sora took this in with wide eyes, gazing at him for a moment before looking away, expression blank. “Oh, I – I see. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” He trailed off, biting his lip. It seemed like the idea of everyone you ever loved being dead, of being the only one out of them all to survive… came as a shock. Demyx could see how it might be so; but, personally, he didn’t really react much to it. It was – too big to grasp properly. He found it far easier to just take in stride and move on.

There were times when Lucrecia liked to challenge his acceptance of it all, as if he were secretly mired in denial up to his neck. He knew they were dead, though. He wasn’t pretending otherwise, to himself or anyone else. He knew no one else had survived. But apparently Demyx saying in no uncertain terms that he understood they were gone just wasn’t enough for her. She found him frustrating on that subject.

Sora didn’t like the silence that had developed between them. Looking awkward, casting about for something new, having nothing he felt he could say on the subject, he instead raised his arm to point ahead. “Look,” he said uneasily. “There’s the bleachers. See what I mean about the sun?”

Demyx forced a thin smile, artificially brightening. “Hey, yeah… Great.” He felt cold, as usual, the wind blowing through the school. He reached up to grab the beanie, tugging the wool down a little further over his ears, and told himself the light would warm him up.

The two boys reached the rows of white benches, ascending the stairs to the middle row and shuffling along to sit looking out over the broad, brown track. There were students about, but not as many as the cafeteria had held, and at enough of a distance to not be instantly alarmed by Demyx’s presence. The knowledge inevitably rippled through them, the blond could feel it; he heard voices lower and stop, a few minutes in which the wind, and Sora’s movements as he found a comfortable position and opened up his satchel, were the only sounds within the immediate area – but out here, in the open, it was less acute. There were no walls to trap the crawling energy – it all just drifted away, so that he barely felt it at all.

Demyx mimicked Sora’ position, crossing his legs on the bench, cautiously looking around as he drew his bag into his lap, avoiding any confrontational stares. Next to him, Sora was pulling out several books and setting them up in a semi-circle around his knees. “Did you bring food?” he asked, to which the blond shook his head. Sora snapped open his cell phone, started pressing buttons. “I’ll get Roxas to buy you something.”

“No,” Demyx said quickly, uncomfortable with needing anything from the blond that had left such an indelible impression. “I’m fine – I really couldn’t eat if you paid me.”

The kid scowled. “You can stand to go without a coat in the cold _and_ you don’t eat?” Demyx hunched awkwardly, and, with the sun warming his shoulders, didn’t reply. Sora shrugged after a moment, closed his phone again, gaze ticking to one side of the blond. “Well, I’d have been too late anyway. They’re coming.”

Demyx looked back over his shoulder, seeing Riku and Roxas trailing across the grassy area. They climbed the slope beside the bleachers, shifting along to where the two were sitting, while Sora arranged his books more precisely. Riku waved as he reached them, smiling faintly, dropping his bag to the ground, the first words out of his mouth being, “Sorry about yesterday, Demyx – Saix is a bitch.”

While the blond, startled, waved the apology off, Roxas tossed a sandwich to his brother, another one sagging from between his teeth. He stepped up onto the bench, then again to the next one, sitting behind Sora and ignoring Demyx completely. Peering over his brother’s shoulder, he raised a brow and demanded, _“What_ are you doing – studying _all_ your subjects at once?”

Riku, settling himself on the grass in front of Sora, his head between the kid’s knees, answered for him, saying, “It’s our new study method. Finals are coming, right? So, we’re trying something new.”

“Power sessions,” Sora confirmed happily. He drew a notebook from his bag, settling it against one thigh, a pen in hand. “And it’s working, so far.”

“Ten minutes of one subject, ten minutes of the next,” Riku explained, shifting his shoulders against the bench, resting his head on Sora’s jutting knee and closing his eyes under the force of the sun, “copious, detailed notes… then go home and revise, revise, revise.” His hair looked positively aqueous in the light, Demyx staring with fascination at the way it seemed to gleam like real silver.

Roxas snorted, lowering himself to the grass and placing his back against Sora’s. “That’s a bullshit method. You’ll fail. You’re barely glancing at each textbook before you continue onto the next one. Detailed notes on _a single paragraph_ aren’t going to pass you.”

Riku’s hand shot up into the air, middle finger extended, scoffing, “Yeah, and your method of reading through _Axel’s_ old notes is just a sure-fire win.”

“…Actually…” Demyx’s voice cautiously interjected, drawing the attention of all three, Sora surprised, both Roxas and Riku frowning slightly. “The – power study method? It’s not bad. It could work… but – maybe twenty minutes would be better?”

Roxas scowled a little, turning onto his knees to hang over Sora, forearms pressing down on the kid’s head. “Oh? And what’s your authority on the matter?”

Demyx’s eyes flicked around, slightly anxious at having all the interest focused his way. “Well, I’ve graduated before already. Last year.”

The others processed this, Sora venturing, “You – already did school? So you’re older than us?”

The blond hesitated, nodded, nails scratching lightly at the material on his bag. “Only by a year. I got a music scholarship for this one college… but I turned it down. I didn’t want to keep going to school.”

“A scholarship.” Roxas’ voice was flat. “What kind? How much?”

The blond rubbed his neck. “…Half-tuition for a school with an orchestra…”

Riku let out a low whistle. “Half? Not too shabby.” He turned to Roxas, gave a smirk. “You see? The guy with the scholarship thinks we’re doing okay.”

The blond glared. “Yeah, well, he _also_ said ten minutes isn’t long enough. Stop trying to fail my brother.”

Sora was eyeing Demyx with interest. “School of orchestra? And – a music scholarship?” He suddenly grinned. “I’m guessing that means you’re good with an instrument, right? Which one? Are they letting you take music at this place, or what?”

Roxas, on the other side of him, muttered, “They had _music_ in that world?”

A sort of stillness fell across them, Demyx’s head sinking slightly. There was a long, silent pause. Then, quietly, the blond said, “Yeah. We had music… but it’s gone now.” He took a sharp breath. “It died.” His hands shifted to his shoes, those lonely relics of a world gone mad, fingers running over the worn threads and folds. Sora turned to glare at his twin.

“Stop acting like Axel would.”

“What, I’m not allowed to voice what everyone’s thinking anyway?” Roxas demanded.

“I wasn’t thinking it,” Riku muttered, reaching back to pull down one of Sora’s books, flipping it to a different page and setting it on his knees to read while he ate. “The guy’s human, isn’t he?”

“Oh, right, and being human automatically qualifies for being totally nice and normal,” the blond sarcastically replied. He then elbowed his sibling. “And that’s _not_ something _Axel_ would say – I’m talking out of my own mouth, aren’t I?”

“Out of your ass, maybe…”

Demyx shook his head suddenly, the motion again catching their attention. “It’s okay,” he said, sounding suddenly lighter. He lifted his face for the first time since sitting, jaw straight, pale eyes clear, and smiled. “I know the reputation my world has, and me for having come from there. Let Roxas say what he wants. I can’t guarantee I wouldn’t be the same in his position.” He grabbed his feet, rocked a little, an innocent sort of motion, completely different to his body language of only moments ago. The three of them eyed him, troubled frowns on all their faces, even Roxas’.

“Dude,” he said over Sora’s shoulder, “generally, when someone bags the world you grew up on, you’re supposed to get defensive – you’re not meant to agree with it.”

Demyx shook his head, the smile thinning a little, but staying steady, strong. “I don’t mind.”

Roxas stared, then rolled his eyes. “Well, at least now we know why you were in a mental ward.”

At this, Demyx flinched a little, but it went unnoticed by the others. The discussion veered, the lunch period passing without further incident or much participation from him. Sora opted to walk him to his next class, the other two heading in the opposite direction.

As they walked, the kid was silent, which suited Demyx just fine; he was done with talking. It was… incredible just how exhausting it was interacting with people. He had grown accustomed to keeping to himself, except for maybe in Auron’s presence. It was one thing to peaceably endure society – another entirely to have to actively participate in some version of it.

According to his timetable, Demyx’s next period was remedial science, another Basics class. Sora led the way. As they reached the classroom, however, the boy stopped him before he could enter, a hand carefully pressed to his arm. Shoulders shifting uncomfortably, Sora shuffled in place while Demyx waiting patiently for him to speak.

“…I don’t know why you said it was okay for Roxas to say that stuff,” he said at last, gaze intent but flicking off occasionally to the side. “I’ve been… wondering how I’d be, if it was me.” He grimaced. “If it had been _my_ world – ”

“Sora.” Demyx’s voice was easy, almost gentle. “It really is alright – it _wouldn’t_ be your world, you guys are way too smart to go the same way that my world did. So don’t bother thinking about it.”

Sora’s eyes were sharp, a scowl in place now as he regarded the blond. “Why are you talking like that? Like you don’t even care? Like it’s – it’s the weather or something?”

Blandly, Demyx replied, “It’s not worth discussing, that’s all.” The kid eyed him for a long minute, Demyx far too familiar with the feel of a heated stare to be intimidated by this one weakly searching one. He turned briefly, glancing over his shoulder into the classroom. He twisted back, flashed a smile. “Look, I have to get going. I don’t want to be late, so I’ll see you later.”

“You won’t,” Sora responded shortly. His eyes lowered for a moment, before returning to the blond, narrowed scrutinisingly. “I only asked Axel if I could take you to your second class and the ones before and after lunch, so he’ll be the one that sees you.” He stepped back, thumbs hooking into the straps of his backpack. “So, tomorrow instead. I’ll see you tomorrow, Demyx.” He continued to gaze, thin-lipped, for several seconds longer. Then, head shaking slightly, he gave a small wave and turned away, disappearing down the stairs, shoes slapping.

Not pausing to dwell on anything that had been said, Demyx entered the classroom, took his seat at the front, reserved specifically as it had been in all his classes so far, just like Zexion had said. Note-taking was out of the question after the agitation of today; instead, Demyx let the professor’s voice wash over him. He brought out his notebook, opened up to the page of smiley-faces he’d started in history class, and continued them.

The building’s central heating made the room warm despite the cold surfaces of the laboratory-like class, and he let himself sink into physical sensations, the feel of the tall stool digging into the backs of his thighs, the momentarily heated sections of bench where his forearms rested, the rest of it cool to touch. There was a faint sharpness to the air that was redolent of washed-away ammonia and other chemicals, not strong enough to be anything but a hint of a scent, yet reminding you without a doubt of exactly where you were.

Demyx took it all in, along with the usual impression of eyes on his back. The teacher all but ignored his presence, obviously of a similar opinion as Zexion in that he didn’t regard the blond to be dangerous, but with the addition of not bothering to acknowledge him as a person. He neither persecuted Demyx, nor enlightened others to his similarities to their humanity; the class, to the blond’s relief, was just a quiet, mindless one to endure. For once, his nerves weren’t grating. He felt like maybe he could get to like this subject.

A couple of minutes before the period ended, a bright red head poked around the door, scanning the class with disinterest, nodded faintly to the educator at the front of the room. “Vexen,” Axel called, “can I steal your new-worlder a few minutes early? The boss has got me waiting for a call, I gotta shove him off onto Paine and get back to the office.”

The fair-haired man frowned, but his cool gaze flicked to Demyx, whose head had come up sharply, wariness in his eyes. “Dismissed,” was all he said, before returning to the precise writing of formulae on the whiteboard. Demyx blinked, then jerked into motion, shutting his book and shoving it into his bag, swinging the strap over his head. All eyes fearfully tracking his movements, except for those belonging to the teacher and the receptionist, Demyx hurried across the room and into the hall.

Axel nodded to him, hands jammed into pockets, and instantly got moving. “I’ll just drop you off,” he reiterated.

Demyx nodded quickly, said, “Fine,” his steps small and swift for several paces, before lengthening to match the other man’s long stride. They followed Sora’s earlier path, down one set of stairs and then another, Axel’s hand dragging along the rail, both of Demyx’s held close to his body.

“I see you scored yourself a dumb hat,” the redhead observed, green eyes glancing at the multicoloured arrangement consuming the blond’s skull.

Again, Demyx felt forced to defend himself. “Sora gave it to me. To keep a little warmer.”

Axel inclined his head to the side. “Yeah, he said in the car last night that he was going to. Apparently, your coldness makes him cold.” He rolled his eyes at this, looking, for a moment, disturbingly similar to his boyfriend. Demyx wondered how long they’d been together.

The two emerged into the fresh air, angling across the quad to the building where the history class resided – a new one, it would seem, judging by the fact that he’d been informed that the man currently walking beside him had torched the old one in what one hoped and assumed had been during his own schooldays. Briefly, eyes travelling up the broad brick face, he was curious as to how the redhead had managed it, and why he wasn’t still living out a life-sentence in juvenile detention because of it.

“So, hey,” Axel struck up suddenly, after a couple minutes, their steps taking them up another echoing set of stairs, “how does it feel to actually be about to complete an entire day of high school?”

Demyx looked over carefully. Was – was the guy actually trying to be nice to him? …Exactly how much had Zexion threatened him in that note? “…It feels stupid,” he said at last, with an edge. In response to the raised brow that came his way, he muttered, “I’ve just – done this before, is all.”

Axel snorted. “I, personally, would rather put up with getting shoved back into the nuthouse than go through school again, even if it’s only for three months.”

Demyx’s reaction was a violent shake of the head, a sharply clipped, “No, you wouldn’t.” Axel’s eyes narrowed, but before he could start thinking hard on the topic, the blond demanded, suddenly brightly, “Why are you working here if you hate the place so much? Is it because of Roxas?”

Axel blinked at the about-face, steps slowing slightly. “…Two reasons,” he answered, after a beat. He held up a finger. “One, I need a day job to balance my night one.” A second finger joined the first one. “Two, it’s part of my debt to the school for killing the building that used to stand here instead of this one. I’m here for another three years, man, that’s five years in total.” He shrugged at Demyx’s expression. “It’s better than having charges pressed for damages caused by misconduct in class, right? I was old enough to go to prison. Roxas nearly killed me over it.”

Demyx swiftly calculated, said, “But – that only makes you a year older than me.” He frowned. “Sora said you went here with Zexion, but – how come he’s teaching already?”

Axel grinned. “Coz he’s a freaking genius?” Then he shook his head. “Zexy got out of college two years ago – he’s twenty-four now. He and my friend Marly are the same age, and because me and _Marly_ were friends, Zexion got sucked into it whether he wanted to or not.” At that point, he seemed to notice his chattiness. He paused, scowled briefly. “Anyway, enough questions,” he said. “You don’t need to know my life-story.”

Axel knocked on the door and left him outside the classroom, since Paine’s last class was still in session. She came to the door, frowning at Demyx standing there. “New kid, what’re you doing here so soon?” She caught sight of the receptionist’s retreating back, calling, “Axel, what the hell?” He waved without turning as he disappeared quickly down the stairs, and she let out an exasperated sound. “Obviously his single brain cell is misfiring – fine, come in, come in, take your seat, no one’s sitting there.”

Demyx crossed the room with his head down. It was like being the last to arrive again, except that not only did he have to put up with being stared at as he came in, he’d also have to put up with it again as this class left, and the next one arrived. All the desks, he swiftly noted, were taken except for his one. As he sat at it, bag on his lap, he froze, suddenly seeing why. His head tilted slowly, slightly, to one side, eyes taking in the sight.

Nothing more than that; no impassioned speech of hatred, no curse words, no superstitious warnings to those that would come after him – just that one word carved deeply, painstakingly into the desk. _Poisoned._ The desk? Or Demyx? Was this directed at him, or was it some kind of coincidence? It was weird that it would be this particular desk, though… and that no one else had sat here…

The bell rang with its usual deafening fervour outside in the hall, and the gathered students instantly started packing away. Judging by the raised eyebrow Paine gave them, they’d never been this fast in their lives. They all but fled the room, a stampede of feet taking place in what was otherwise almost complete silence. Paine managed to yell for them to read four chapters in their textbooks by Friday – then they were gone.

When the last of them had fled, Demyx turned in his seat and let his eyes wander the collection of other desks. From here, he couldn’t see anything resembling his own – nothing else, it seemed, was _poisoned._

Paine saw him looking, and advised, as she grabbed the clapper and started wiping the whiteboard clean of the notes she’d made during the lesson, “Ignore it.” When Demyx glanced around, surprised, she elaborated, “The graffiti, right? You’re checking to see if anyone else has it.” She shook her head, stretching up to rub away the letters in the top corner. “I already did. It was there after lunch. Quizzed the kids when they got in, but no one’s claiming credit, and no one’s telling if they know anything.” She shrugged, glancing at him as she went over to her desk and set the clapper down. “In my opinion, if that’s the worst you get thrown at you, you’re doing pretty well.”

Demyx smiled crookedly. “I’m not bothered by it,” he told her, honesty clear in his tone. “I was just seeing if it was to do with me or not. I’m not altogether surprised, I guess, and at least it’s nothing gross. I can deal with this.”

She paused, studied him critically for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.” There was the faintest warmth of approval in her tone. “Good for you, kid. Don’t let them knock you down with anything but fists, right?”

The next group of students arrived, giving him a wide berth, and class commenced, Demyx spending most of it staring out the window at the maturing, crisp day. The blond wondered if this place ever got rain, or snow – each day was agonisingly clear. It was easy to be lulled into thinking that the outer temperature matched the inner, with all the bright sunlight and the central heating filling every building; that just managed to make it sting all the more when he did step outside. Demyx preferred the warmth, obviously, but he couldn’t help but feel that all that sun was a little like false advertising.

The lesson went by slowly. If at lunchtime Demyx had felt like a hundred years had passed, at this point of the day, with so many voices and words swimming around his woollen-clad head, it must have been at least a thousand. He should have been old and grey by now. His eyes should have been too obscured by milky cataracts to be able to observe the word _poisoned,_ whether in large, cautionary letters on his desk, or in the form of a flashing neon light plastered to the side of a building. He should have been done with _life,_ not just a single day of school.

When the final bell rang at last, Demyx waited as he normally did until the last of the frightened gazelles had leapt from the room, waited until Paine had once again wiped the whiteboard clean, had gathered her papers, had cleared away the debris littering her desk. She shot him a deliberately patient look and said, “Go home, kid. You’re not getting any more dismissed by sitting there, and I want to go home, too.”

Demyx obediently rose from his seat and vacated the room, finding that the wait had been worth it: the hallways were blissfully quiet, and for once there was no one to fetch him and guide him. He supposed that Axel had figured he’d find his own way out; not a lot prevented a kid from not knowing the way _out_ of a school campus. His steps were as he hesitantly navigated his way out of the building by memory.

A couple of girls were walking across the quad as he fell into step behind them, sensing their purpose to leave and deciding to follow them until they led him to freedom. Hearing his footsteps, one of them glanced back casually, then locked up. Her hands leapt up to her friend’s elbow, scaring the girl, who looked around to see what had her so uptight. There was a pause, before, without even a whispered discussion, the girls broke into a simultaneous sprint, hands clasping, bags jumping at their backs, shoes pounding the pavement. As they vanished around the side of one of the buildings, Demyx heard one of them give a whimper. Then they were gone.

At least he knew the right way to go.

He traced their steps, saw the road and hurried to meet it, leaving the school buildings behind as he emerged onto the pavement. A pent-up breath was released from his chest, his stride swift as he navigated the human traffic. He caught his second-wind, a boost of energy that drove him onward, carried him home, desperate for the quiet inner sanctum of the walls of his apartment. The only thing he couldn’t do was run; it would cause a panic. He had been instructed to absolutely not run unless being pursued by someone wishing him physical harm – if he disturbed the natural flow of society too badly, they’d recall him to the hospital. This whole ‘living alone’ thing was as much a test of his ability to coexist in their world as it was an observation of his rights as a fellow human being. After all, who even knew what Hojo truthfully viewed him as? It was hard to feel like anything more than a weakly trapped butterfly about to be pinned to a piece of card in that man’s presence.

The twenty minute walk whittled down to a mere ten due to speed, Demyx finally reached his building, mounting the stairs two by two, keeping an ear and eye out for anyone coming the other way. He reached his apartment and, in stark contrast to the previous day, scrabbled at the lock. His heart was pounding by now, panic spiking through his veins, chest constricting. He didn’t know where it was coming from, but now that he was back, he just – _he had to get inside._ It was like being a child again, in a nightmare of being chased by monsters…

It was like being home again, in world filled with madmen that would either cut your throat, or eat you.

He panted, on the edge of hyperventilating, managing to slightly bend the metal of the key as he shoved the door open. He used all his body, all his strength, to slam it resoundingly, and stayed there, heart hammering, beads of sweat dampening his face, making his woollen hat itchy. He reached up, tore it off, flung it away, and pressed himself against the cool floor. He struggled to bring his breaths back under control, clawing for the words that Lucrecia had given him for when an attack came, the soothing mantra that everything was going to be fine.

A long, shaky inhalation was managed in amongst the broken, shallow ones. Demyx detected Mako in the air, and closed his eyes, finally beginning to calm. That meant that Auron had been in while he was away, had probably come straight here after he’d dropped the blond off. He had opened all the windows to encourage the bacon scent to dissipate, and it had been replaced with trademark chemical scent of Midgar.

Demyx could breathe again. Muscles weak, rubbery, he pushed away from the door, taking deep, slow breaths through his nose, finding the faintest comfort in the fact that Mako smelled a little bit like cleaning fluids. Heavy-shouldered, he made his way over to the sofa, dropping his bag carefully to the floor, crawling onto its ugly green fabric and balling up, knees bent, elbows pressed together against his chest. Eyes fluttering shut, he spent several minutes in self-imposed darkness, fingers tangling together, nails picking at each other.

There came a low buzzing noise, three pulses that had him automatically reaching over before the tone on his cell started ringing. Hands fumbling, he managed to unsnap the clips on his bag without opening his eyes, digging in for the phone, pulling it out and pressing the receive button, bringing it to his ear as he settled back against the couch. “Auron?”

“You home?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m coming over with groceries. See you in ten minutes.”

The man’s low voice abruptly vanished, replaced by a steady tone. Demyx exhaled slowly, returning the phone to his bag, exchanging it for the folded up wad of his money. He counted through it quickly with a single eye cracked open, then tucked the notes into his pocket, performing a swift burst of mental arithmetic. Pulling himself up to sitting, Demyx scratched his head, scalp prickling after spending the day in Sora’s hat, and looked idly around at the apartment. He stood, shuffled off to go to the bathroom and splash his face with cold water, before heading into his room to discard his shoes, pulling a pair of thick house-socks on over his regular ones, a second arm sock on to cover his upper arm, the chill of the open windows starting to get to him now that he was no longer on the precipice of a panic attack.

Returning to the sitting room, he retrieved Sora’s beanie from where it had hit the blinds and fallen to the floor, yanking it back over his poor, abused hair, mashing it ever more sadly against his skull. Just as he’d got the kettle boiling to offer the man a drink when he arrived, Auron knocked, a familiarly distinctive, sharp rapping. The blond hop-skipped quickly to answer, adjusting his hat before undoing the deadbolt, pulling it open to admit him.

Toting three packed paper bags, Auron shouldered past with a grunted, “Nice hat,” heading straight for the kitchen and dumping the bags down, some of them obviously heavy. Expression creasing with dawning concern, Demyx shut the door with a click and trailed after him uncertainly, plucking at the pocket of his jeans. “Uh – Auron?”

The man was unpacking, paused to sniff the air, nodding to himself. “You haven’t cleaned anything,” he observed. “That’s good.” The blond stood awkwardly at the doorway, two fingers dipping anxiously down to touch the gil in his pocket.

“How much did you buy?” he asked worriedly, eyeing what he considered to be luxury items, things he never would have spent the money he had on if given a _choice_ in the matter – extra soap he didn’t need yet, a large box of teabags, a three-pack of mugs to replace those that had been broken in the last week due to sock-hands first thing in the morning.

“ShinRa bought it,” the man replied evenly, “put your money away, Dem.”

Demyx paused in surprise, then scowled suspiciously, hands moving to his hips. “ShinRa _provides_ the money, though. Why would they get you to buy a whole heap of groceries when that’s exactly the sort of thing they’re funding me for?”

“Because,” Auron replied, pulling out a box of chocolate-flavoured cereal that matched the box already in the cupboard, “deep down inside, deep, deep down, underneath all its sneaky bureaucratises, control issues and heavy, threatening arm of the Turks, ShinRa has a big, love-filled heart.”

Demyx struggled to process this – after all, with the obvious exceptions of Lucrecia and Auron, he’d found ShinRa to be most accurately summed up by people such as Hojo and, though he wasn’t actually part of the organisation, Professor Ansem – intelligent, ambitious, and for the most part self-serving. The head of Other-World Migration was a particularly gratingly pompous man by the name of Heidegger – Demyx couldn’t imagine him so much as buying posies for his sick mother, let alone volunteering extra funds for one lone, potentially dangerous mad-worlder.

Auron sent him a one-eyed look daring him to challenge this. Demyx hesitated, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Then I guess,” he ventured after a pause, moving to help him, “despite the way it looks and acts sometimes, ShinRa is like – the equivalent of a big, fat teddy-bear, huh?”

“Less of the fat,” the man muttered, “but yes, I suppose it must be. President ShinRa himself throws happy parties for sick children, and dresses as a fairy to take away their sorrow.” He paused, musing, a tin of coffee hanging several inches off the bench-top. “…I could probably be assassinated for that.”

They didn’t further discuss the subject of ShinRa’s freak and spontaneous generosity, just as the topic of Demyx having stayed at the school the entire workday didn’t arise. Things like that weren’t what Auron talked about unless there was something negative attached. Those were Lucrecia topics, analysing, explaining, deliberating; Auron wasn’t paid for that sort of thing, he was here to make sure, as Demyx had so aptly described to Sora, that he didn’t flip out or starve, or be vulnerable to attack from any quarter. Briefly, Demyx wondered what he’d do if ShinRa were the attacker; Auron obviously held little love for the payers of his wage. It was safe to say that he liked Demyx a _lot_ better than Heidegger, who was pretty much his boss. But loyalties were funny things – you never could completely tell where a person’s lay until the time that they were tested. Still, he wondered.

The two males cooked pasta and sauce-from-a-jar between them, ate, and watched TV. It had been a long time since Demyx had fallen asleep in an empty home. Auron’s stamina was by far superior to his own, and every time the blond tried to outlast him, tried to be awake to see him out, he inevitably ended up asleep somewhere in the apartment. He was beginning to think the man had a sleeper hold stashed in his skill pool that he used when he felt like going home.

This particular night was no different, except for the fact that Dem was all too happy to admit defeat and wander off to shower and sleep, the last thing he heard, as he shut his bedroom door to pull on one sweater after another, being the sound of the TV turned low.

 


	7. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

_The sky wasn’t meant to be green at its core like that; clouds weren’t meant to be ebony-black. The way the two colours swirled together spoke of illness, wrongness, universal sickness._

_Demyx wondered if this was what had driven them all so mad, or if it was the results of the madness that had so badly curdled the sky._

_Sometimes, blue still showed through like it was supposed to, snatches of it, but they were dying gasps, he was sure. With the streets this dark and silent, every sharp noise or rustle a cause for fear, with Demyx standing at the window of what would have been a perfectly ordinary house if it hadn’t been for the eerie emptiness it breathed, the blond was quite easily convinced that the heavens were a reflection of the earth._

_He inhaled, exhaled softly as he peered out, at an angle to the glass so that he wouldn't be instantly visible to any passers-by. It had been a few days now since he’d heard tell of all the poor, demented, broken people they were calling zombies, the story told by an eyewitness who’d claimed, in traumatised tones, that she’d seen them actually eat one of the corpses straight off the street. The thought made Demyx shudder, empty stomach writhing unhappily, hands automatically going to the front pouch of his dirty hoodie, where it touched upon the handle of the large, sharp knife he’d discovered in a block in the abandoned home’s kitchen._

_As he inspected the still, quiet view, he hoped desperately that he’d never have to see such a thing himself, mind uneasy, wondering how he would ever survive viewing such a soul-shattering –_

“Demyx, come away from the window.”

The blond choked out a small scream, spun, swinging the knife with a spike of terror, only to have his wrist caught out of the air, a firm, hazel eye meeting his gaze sternly. Demyx struggled, choked out another wailing, strangled, unheard cry for help, before being swung hard to the ground, arms twisted uselessly behind his back. He sobbed his fear, coughed harshly, thrashing to the best of his hysterical ability, an act of futility. Arms wrapped around him, a body pressing on top of him, pinning him, feeble, to the floor.

Auron’s voice filtered through slowly, a familiar depth of tone threading the haze clouding his head. He was repeating words, a couple of sentences over and over, both of them well-trained by Lucrecia for situations such as this.

…Lucrecia?

Demyx hacked out another cough, gasped in sharply, and suddenly let out a thin moan, falling limp under Auron’s weight. The abandoned house snapped out of focus, becoming instead his light-filled apartment, the view from the window somewhere over his head instead of right in front of him. The guardian had him on the ground, completely immobilised, incapable of any movement whatsoever. There was no knife, no hoodie, no greenish-black sky to wonder over with dim, dull, ever-present terror – outside, beyond the glass, Midgar hummed and bustled.

Home was gone.

When Auron was sure that the blond had stopped fighting, he lessened the pressure of his hold fractionally, testing Demyx’s reaction. The teen simply lay there, blue eyes staring across the apartment, face stained and splotchy with tears that had stopped now. His cheeks glistened with them, nose visibly running, but the cause for them had faded away – Demyx was back in the room.

Releasing a breath, Auron levered himself up onto his toes and hands, pushed hard and came up onto his feet, freeing the boy from the prison his body had momentarily formed for the good of them both. While Demyx curled up into himself for a couple minutes, Auron stepped over his inert body, grabbed the cord for the blinds and snapped them shut, plunging the room into cool, dim darkness. He checked his watch for the time, grimaced to realise this was going to set them back for Demyx’s first class if he didn’t shape the boy up fast. Under normal circumstances, he would have allowed a free day for the blond, but after the events of Demyx’s first day, Auron was wary of giving Ansem any particular reason to pay any more undue attention to them than he already had. Gazing down at the teen, though, he felt a spike of compassion deep enough to almost ache. The blond was the ragged living remnant of a tragedy. Never before in his career had Auron encountered someone as truly, pathetically in need as Demyx. His mind had walls of steel, and a thousand traps to catch out troublesome thoughts before they could begin. It was, ultimately, incredibly detrimental to his mental health.

He had witnessed this sort of thing firsthand several times now, after nearly five weeks in the boy’s presence. It made his chest tighten each and every time. It wasn’t every day you got to watch someone flash back to a world of nightmares simply by doing something like standing a certain way and looking out the window.

“I told you to keep those shades shut,” he growled, for want of something better to say as he stomped across the scrupulously clean wooden floor. He entered the kitchenette, got the kettle boiling and pulled out the various components necessary for building a caffeine hit strong enough to blast the blond’s head clean of the current distress. There was no way it was going to work all the way, but somehow Demyx got comfort from it. He’d spent several months of one summer working in a diner, according to his information sheet, during the year that he’d been out of high school. Auron supposed there must have been pleasant enough memories attached to the scent and flavour of coffee beans that warred sufficiently with the more recent ones that festered. At least, that was what Lucrecia had intimated. Neither Auron nor Demyx had a clue what was really going on; they could only listen to her prognoses and advice, and trust that she had his best interests at heart.

Windows were bad, was one thing she had said, but Demyx was too fond of light to comply for extended periods of time, which left Auron stirring hard enough to slosh hot water onto the counter as he tried to snap the teen back into resembling something normal before school started, silently cursing ShinRa all the while. Demyx was right; high school was stupid thing to have to do again. Sighing, he took the drink into the sitting room, where the blond had pushed himself up, cross-legged, head down.

Demyx was cold, both from the shivering after-effects of the vision, plus the sweat that had dried on his skin. He was going to have to take another shower to try and get it off – he could feel it sticking, stinking. He was sure he smelled putrescent, like dead flesh, but Auron seemed unbothered as he sat across from him and set the coffee down between them. The blond’s eyes moved automatically to the dark, watery depths. Milk for happiness, black for desperation: this was how they operated. It would be strong enough to peel paint, bitter enough to make his toes curl.

“She said this might happen,” the guardian said heavily, hands resting on his hips, legs crossed, studying him. “Lucrecia said the stress of a new environment would probably spark a couple episodes like this.”

Demyx’s hands pressed against his shoulders, arms wrapped over his chest, chin tucking against his collarbone. “…Something to look forward to, then.” His voice was almost a whisper, so faint and rasping, dull in quality, expression hollow. “You didn’t feel like telling me?”

Auron was quiet for a moment, before replying, “Hojo worried it would be giving you permission to lose yourself.”

Demyx laughed harshly, a foreign, sour sound, hunching down further. “Of course. Of course he would think that.” He felt oddly disconnected, head drifting from his body, anxiety remaining sharp in his chest. Each breath came as if from a distance.

Auron nudged the coffee closer, and Demyx felt a flaring pulse of pure, raw fury burst through his veins, wanted to snatch up the mug and leap to his feet, throw it across the room and watch it split into four pieces against the wall, splattering coffee wide, across the furniture, the TV, the bricks. It was such a _powerful_ urge, it screamed at him, his upper body twitching forward like a jolt had passed through his flesh.

The end result was a small amount of blood staining little crescent-shaped cuts opened in the flesh of his gripped shoulders. As Auron cautiously watched, Demyx choked down his rage, unlocked his arms and reached for the drink. He winced as its stinging surface seared his hands, adjusted his grip and brought it close to his face. He looked at it unsteadily, inhaled slowly, drawing its scent deep. Resentfully finding that, as always, it helped his nerves, Demyx took a sip. It didn’t matter that it was too hot, burned his tongue and the roof of his mouth – the fact of it was that the heat, combined with the flavour… it eased something in him a little way. He was able to reach up and wipe his eyes dry of the tears that clung stubbornly to his lashes, could drag the same hand down his face, stretching the skin, helping to dispel some of the buzzing disassociation.

Gently pressing the heel of his palm against one eye, he muttered, “I… I won’t go near it again. I was just… seeing if there were any clouds in the sky, and it – it…” He took a large gulp of coffee, pushing shaking fingers through the mess of his hair, body curled over slightly with weariness. He gazed blankly into the red of Auron’s robes. “…I’m sorry I tried to hit you.”

The man held up a hand, dismissing it quickly. “You didn’t. You suffered a flashback, and I entered that at my own risk – you’re not held accountable for that.” His gaze hardened a little. “But now that one has happened, you’ll have to be vigilant at school the next couple days – we don’t want it happening around other students. If you start feeling strange, light-headed at all, tell one of the members of faculty – understand?”

Demyx’s attention focused sharply, the demand springing from his lips, “I still have to go to _school?”_

Auron’s expression was grim. “I think it’s in your best interests, yes. Otherwise, both Ansem and Hojo will need a written reason why you didn’t attend, plus probably a verbal meeting as well. With each of them.”

Demyx briefly panicked, felt it grab his heart and squeeze him breathless. “I don’t…”

_Hojo._

His teeth snapped together, frustration stamped hard on his features, a scowl darkening them. He didn’t want to leave the apartment. Flashbacks brought roaring periods of agoraphobia, chunks of hours in which the blond could only stand to curl up in bed and remind himself that the past was past. Being outside was a nerve-wracking experience at the best of times, but these episodes always left him so _raw._ His defences had been shattered, clothing and skin stripped sharply away, so that the slightest gust of wind would send knives through his exposed, bloody flesh. The thought of going out like this – of attending that school like this – was already an agony that made him want to start crying again. His nerves itched and crawled, breaths coming shorter and shallower at the mere idea of the possibility. But – _Hojo…_

The mug clacked against his front teeth as he brought it in fast for a mouthful, trying to distract himself from the fear. Either fear, both fears. Giving Hojo a reason to keep him, giving him more to write in that folder of his, more reason to gaze at Demyx like an experiment gone fascinatingly wrong… It would be okay telling it in retrospect to Lucrecia come Saturday, but to have to go out of his way to see Hojo as well, and have to relate every detail, every sensation, to be recorded?

Oh, man. Which one was the lesser evil? Was it better to go out feeling like the sky was going to crush him, or to have to relive the whole thing anyway with the eerie little doctor?

Auron had assumed his blandest expression, a sure sign that he didn’t want to influence Dem’s decision, but he’d already made it known that he wanted Demyx heading off into the big wide world like this. Another flash of complete and utter fury crashed through him, born of his terror, born of Auron expecting too much. Too _much._

Shaking suddenly, a violent trembling, the blond got to his feet, took his mug into the kitchen, tipped the rest of the overly-powerful muck down the drain, crouched down and agitatedly pulled open the cupboard doors, hauling out the disinfectant in one hand, the bleach in the other, briefly putting one bottle down to grab a wad of cloths and jam them between his teeth. Snorting each quick breath through his nostrils, Demyx stood, kicked the doors shut, spat the dishrags onto the counter and slammed both cleaners onto the sink. He almost couldn’t undo the childproof cap because of how badly he was jittering all over the place. He managed to spill green disinfectant all over his hands, down his front, cursing viciously at the waste.

He didn’t dwell on it long, recovering and simply tipping the bottle up, the contents glugging out into the stainless-steel sink, over the counters, splashing down onto the floor. It soaked into anything that had been left out, the big box of teabags Auron had bought last night, the cereal the man had been trying to coax him into eating before school, the dish-drying towel, it went over the electrical cords –

Auron was there an instant later, snatching away the all but empty bottle, full only moments ago, holding it out of reach even as Demyx anxiously lunged for it. “Give it _back,”_ he yelled. He threw himself against the man, hands thrusting over his shoulders as it was held high above his head. Grunting, panting, he snarled, “Goddamn it, Auron, you’d better fucking – ”

“ _Demyx, you are two words and actions away from this being classified as an aggressive encounter.”_

Just like that, the blond froze, like someone had stabbed a steel rod deep into his spine. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, quickly sent his mind down to observe the way their bodies were tangled together – aggressive versus defensive. He threw himself back a second later, staggering across the kitchen. A foot found the fluid raining down from the countertops, and he slipped, yelped, tried to catch himself and instead crashed to the floorboards. It hurt; his shoulders and elbows absorbed the brunt of impact, head saved but body thumping hard in penance. Everything… ached. Stung.

For a long minute, he lay there in the growing puddles of green fluid, feeling the way it seeped around him, soaking into his hair, inhaling the biting scent. Auron disappeared, returned with a stack of towels and moved around the blond, laying them carefully over all surfaces, trying to absorb the mess. He felt the softness of the fabric as the man dropped two of the towels to the floor, bending to tuck them under the edges of his body. Gradually, the splattering sound was muffled, and all that was left was the overwhelming smell. He supposed it was probably a good thing he hadn’t gone for the bleach first, considering that he was practically taking a bath in it all.

This week had been… way too hectic.

“Okay, you win,” Demyx tiredly said, staring at the ceiling. “I’ll go.”

“Fine,” Auron coldly replied. He threw a towel onto the blond’s stomach. “But you’re cleaning yourself up first. Make it quick, I don’t want to have to go out of my way to explain to Ansem why you’re tardy.”

Demyx trailed disinfectant through the apartment with each half-limping step, stripped off his sodden clothing and stepped into the hottest shower he could stand, skin turning a bright, stinging red. He leaned against the cold wall and tried to gather himself together, bringing all the scattered threads of his nerves into one place, knotting them into something that would withstand the storm. He was shaking again, though it was smaller this time, not the all-out shuddering from before. That had been because he’d realised he had no choice in the matter, he was going to have to leave the apartment…

Sucking in a breath, the blond shoved his head abruptly under the flow of water, scrubbing his fingers through his hair, smelling steaming disinfectant, tasting it on his tongue, mouth hanging open as he took in each hard breath. After an intense minute, when the burn became too fierce, he stopped, shutting the water off with a banging of pipes in the walls. Blindly, he climbed out, groped for the towel, buried his face in it for a long moment before hurriedly scraping it all over his body. Auron wouldn’t wait for long before barging in to drag him out, not now that Dem had pissed him off, as the blond knew he had. Whenever Demyx displayed any signs of real aggression – whenever he came close to snapping free of the rigid constraints, not always easy to maintain – Auron got dark and spoke a _lot_ less, and he wasn’t exactly chatty to begin with. They had found, in their several weeks together so far, that they had reached an understanding on many things. Aggression didn’t come into that, however – Demyx knew that the burly man would just as soon half-kill him if it was necessary.

He’d been told that Auron had full permission to do just that. First by Hojo, then by Lucrecia. Even if Demyx managed to pull a weapon of some kind, a knife, a bat, anything – Auron would know how to disarm and disable him in less than twenty seconds flat. He even, Hojo had revealed, had been given the license to destroy Demyx if the situation called for it. ‘Destroy’ was the exact word he’d used, too – like he considered Demyx on par with a biting dog.

Looking as raw as he felt, Demyx vacated the bathroom, flesh glowing painfully, letting a fog of steam exhale into the rest of the apartment. Towel clamped around his waist, he closed the bedroom door, scrubbed his hair dry, pulled on boxers, the same jeans, and two fresh shirts. The air here was cold, it cut into his lungs. Checking his bag for his phone and money, making sure all books were in place, he crossed back to the bathroom and rapidly combed out his damp hair, gelled his hands and styled it swiftly.

When he met Auron by the door, without a word being spoken by either of them as they descended the stairs and exited onto the street, Demyx looked better than he had all week. Inside, he was already panicking, the anxiety making his palms wet with perspiration, but all he could do was blot them against his thighs as they quickly walked, making sure his breaths stayed even. If he allowed himself to freak out, he’d _freak out_ – if he fought against it, he could manage this. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to clamping down on every thought and emotion in order to appear normal.

It was just hard, this being the first time he had to do it like _this,_ after having spent a few brief minutes back in his own world, after reliving the awful fear and then knowing, _knowing_ it was all gone, all over and done with in the most awful way. His stomach lurched at the thought, heart rising into his throat, head coming up sharply, making Auron’s gaze snap over – but then, Demyx took a deep breath, chest rising. He met the man’s look, grinned brightly. “I think I’ll be on time, despite everything!”

Frustration was visible in Auron’s expression, but he knew nothing could be said. He couldn’t poke holes in the boy’s defences, couldn’t at least make him normal in his presence. Today, Auron was the _cause_ of it – or, barring the cause, at the very least an enabler. He _wanted_ the act today, insisted on it. There was nothing he could do.

When they reached the school, things were busy, students mobbing the place. Demyx’s attitude toned down, obviously intimidated by the sheer volume of the silence that rippled through them as he entered their midst. By now, everyone had heard about him, knew his face, his hair, his style, his tattoos. To have every eye turned against him like this… it was like a living nightmare. He was desensitised to the staring, sure, but not to this degree. He couldn’t not feel this all the way down to his bones.

A frightened path scuffled into existence, cleared as if by magic, an ocean of gazes boring into him as he and Auron walked to the front doors of the main building. It was more unnerving than anything the blond had experienced to date – shopping for groceries by himself, undergoing a physical examination with Hojo, nothing – _nothing_ could compare to this. It was like the first day in the cafeteria, only _focused._ If Auron hadn’t been by his side… the way he felt right now… Demyx could have easily just given up. Just – lain down and let them hurt him like they so obviously wanted to.

There was no point in trying to apologise for who he was, or where he came from. Their hearts were closed to him.

Auron gripped his elbow, increased their speed subtly, not wanting to provoke any of the watchers into something he alone couldn’t handle in order to defend the blond, which he, as they both were well aware of after the morning they’d experienced so far, was utterly helpless to do for himself.

They mounted the stairs, the man stiff-arming the door open, leaving behind a rustling of whispers. The halls were no better in terms of numbers – it was close to class-time, students leaning against lockers, heading into and out of bathrooms, waiting outside of classrooms – but at least indoors Auron’s size and menace seemed more pronounced.

The two males entered the office, found themselves faced with the room actually having other people there besides themselves, reminding Demyx almost with a start that Ansem didn’t exist only to belittle him. There were two students sitting in the corner seats, a woman with long, glossy hair in a business suit standing at the counter with her fingers resting over the brass bell as she leaned over to talk to a strained-looking Axel. The girl of the pair sitting next to the fern let out a startled, quickly cut-off shriek at the sight of Demyx, looking embarrassed a moment later as she covered her mouth with her hand. Everyone else jumped, turned and stared at first her, then the blond and his guardian. Demyx’s eyes slid shut as the woman in the business suit gasped. At least he’d gotten a decent night’s sleep. He didn’t think he could deal with all of this plus exhaustion. It would have been a direct path to insanity.

Axel stood abruptly, pushing his glasses up into his hair, little red marks left on his nose where they’d been resting. A broad, determined smile breaking out across his features, he exclaimed, “Demyx, Auron, sir, great to see you guys.” His teeth seemed to grit slightly as he added happily, “You’re late, Dem, let me escort you to class so no one tries to lynch you on the way, hm? Let’s go fast, wouldn’t want you to be even later.” He weaved around the desk, waving apologetically to the woman. “Lady Yunalesca, I’m sorry, we’ll have to sort this out another time, unless you’re determined to wait for Ansem. I’m sure his meeting will be over soon, you’re welcome to take a chair next to the scrawny kids in the corner.”

Her wide, almost colourless eyes remained on Demyx for most of this, whipping back to the redhead only at the last several words. “You would make me wait?” Her voice had a depth and honey to its quality, but her delivery was cold.

“Duty calls, I’m afraid! Wouldn’t want to let the precious mad-worlder get hurt, right?” Axel was next to the blond a second later, gripping his shoulders, steering him forcefully back towards the door. “Sir Auron, always an honour,” he farewelled, the man not bothering to acknowledge him – staring at the woman, in fact, who was suddenly studying him curiously.

“Sir – Auron, was it?” Demyx heard her say, before being literally shoved out into the hall, into the mess of students, Axel bringing up the rear with a suddenly glowering expression. Mouth snapping shut from whatever he had been planning to say, Demyx allowed himself passively to be grabbed and forcibly steered along, Axel starting to mutter under his breath as several feet developed between them and the office door. _“Fucking bitch… God complex… I’ll show her ‘hope’ alright…”_

A sharp bang and crash split the hallway, everyone in the vicinity jolting, twisting round-eyed to see what had caused such a commotion – only to watch Auron stalking off the other way, head held determinedly high, the ends of his robes drifting behind him. There was something terribly proud in his bearing that somehow made Demyx anxious. The door swung drunkenly on its hinges, Axel looking both stunned and vaguely impressed. “Well – I wonder what caused that little tantrum?” he murmured, sounding amused.

Demyx gazed after him uncertainly, watched as he slammed through the glass doors down the end, escaping into sunshine. It was the first time he’d seen anything like it from Auron – what the hell could have sparked him off? That woman? Or had Ansem stepped out and said something? It made Demyx uneasy to see the unflappable man vanish down the far stairs, becoming a scarlet smudge crossing the yard towards the road. He felt suddenly dejected, abandoned, standing awkwardly among all these strangers, many of whom were rapidly forgetting the scene the man had caused and turning their attention to his presence, and his arm.

Shrugging, Axel squeezed the blond’s shoulders firmly, getting him moving again. “C’mon, before that witch of a woman decides to come after me.” He summoned the presence of mind to ask, “You know what class?”

Demyx blinked. “Uh…”

Green eyes rolled. “Jeeze, kid. You’re lucky you’ve got me around.” Axel pulled a square of paper from one pocket, unfolding it and shaking it out noisily, studying the crease-marred words of Demyx’s timetable. “Basic math for two periods. Anyone ever tell you you smell like disinfectant?”

Demyx stopped walking, Axel bumping into him. “What? Did I strike a nerve or something?” He sighed. “Fine, you don’t smell like pine-scented cleaner, even though I’m pretty sure I wash my floors with it. Can we go now?”

The bell rang suddenly, piercingly, sending students scurrying down the halls at a run, anxious to not be locked out or sent away for a tardy slip. Axel was shoved and slammed by shoulders, bags, jostled back and forth, cursing, slapping at the heads of those he could reach. Even though the halls were narrow, even though there was a bustle of motion, none of them touched Demyx, standing there like someone had bolted his feet down. He was at the eye of the storm, mind momentarily back in several places at once. Not the field on that night – no, that memory was special, it was reserved from the conscious mind. It wasn’t allowed through at just any vague prompting.

Instead, Demyx could see himself back in the hospital, clad in white cotton, scrunched up awkwardly in a metal chair at a table, Hojo sitting across from him with his eyes set in that sceptically observing expression. The identification tag was tight around Demyx’s wrist, a pen gripped between his fingers, a sheet of paper in front of him. Others had already been filled out: he had displayed the fact that he could read, he could write; he could form comprehensive sentences and observe differences between one section of text and another; could look at a picture and describe it out loud, could look at a painting, a poem, and analyse them haltingly, as if it wasn’t exactly his strength, but achievable. They had tested to make sure he was intelligent, coherent, rational, logical, capable of conveying himself both verbally and through written mediums.

Now, though, the time had come for numbers, and Demyx was doing his absolute best to not break down. He sweated, he couldn’t stop swallowing, his feet and hands were suddenly alive with tension – and Hojo was drinking in every nervous, anxious gesture, was writing down his observations, waiting to see exactly how Demyx would ultimately react.

That particular time, the blond had cracked, incapable of continuing. It had been Lucrecia who had picked up the pieces, coaxed them back together, and eventually gotten him to demonstrate his ability to work with mathematics without falling into a choking panic. He had got three answers incorrect, and promptly stopped speaking for two days. His nails had taken the better part of the next three weeks to grow back from their nastily-bitten state, and had still been recovering when Auron had picked him up that first night of their acquaintanceship.

Hojo had got his results as to whether or not Demyx was intelligent in the way of numbers. He wasn’t an especial brain when it came to that department, but neither was he below-average, even with the handicap that now automatically came hand-in-hand with the subject. Yet, here he was, in the middle of a suburban high school two months later, and his schedule was telling Axel that he had a class to get to – a class that would begin now, and recur until graduation hit.

Hojo _knew_ what happened to Demyx, but had still signed him up for a _fucking_ class. The blond had no doubt that ShinRa had utter control over what he studied, or could on a whim change it at the very least – and still, Hojo had allowed this to happen.

No. Correction: the man had probably done it on purpose. What better way to test Demyx than to thrust him into an environment that, as if the rest of this experience hadn’t done it enough, had the potential to send him into an utter frenzy of mental and emotional anguish?

Hojo had done it deliberately; he would be waiting eagerly for the results. After all – Demyx wasn’t _like_ regular other-worlders, was he? He was different. He was fresh meat to the doctor, to be poked, prodded, studied.

The halls emptied, and still Demyx stood there. Axel, eyes narrowed, moved in front of him, arms crossing. “…What?” When there came no response, he extended an arm carefully, lined up a thumb and forefinger, clicked sharply a couple times, observing the teen closely. “Snap out of it, kid, don’t make me have to take you to the nurse or whatever. They’ve got permission to sedate the fuck out of you, you know.”

 _Hojo._ The first stirrings of hatred rose against the man, thought previously merely to be distasteful. What was he hoping for from this...? Did he actually want Demyx to flip out and – do something? Was he after proof that he’d otherwise been denied? _Was he actually making a concerted effort to encourage the blond to snap?_

“Demyx.” Axel’s voice was hardening. He could almost hear added onto it, _you are about two words and actions away from this being classified as an aggressive encounter._

Wouldn’t Hojo be happy if that happened?

Demyx lifted his head, smiled firmly. It was the thinnest his lips had ever been. “I apologise for my unusual behaviour; I’m fine. Please, take me to class.”

Axel eyed him, probably torn between wondering at the emptiness of only moments ago, and the suddenly almost robotic quality that had replaced it. He didn’t argue, simply gestured the blond to join him, not wanting to turn his back to him just now. The two got walking, Demyx looking almost uncannily like Auron had when he’d left the office minutes earlier, head held firm and level, jaw all but jutting out in an effort to keep the eyes raised, the expression distant from whatever emotional turmoil was boiling beneath the surface. Axel shook his head faintly, leading the blond along the ground-level halls, remaining within the same building. They stopped outside a room, the redhead rolling one shoulder. “Well, here we are.” He looked at the door, at Demyx, wary. “You, uh, gonna be okay?”

“Of course,” the teen trilled. His voice, in stark contrast to his face, was light and merry. His features looked like they’d been carved out of wood, caught in an oddly cheerful twist that was almost painful to look at. Axel knocked on the door, twisted the handle and stuck his head in, talking to the teacher on the other side. Whatever he said was lost in a haze to Demyx, who was concentrating hard on continuing to smile.

He was shown in, Axel giving him one last hard, searching look before turning away, leaving him there. Already knowing which seat was his own, Demyx crossed the room, sat down in a pool of silence, watched every step of the way. He got out a pen, some paper, turned his eyes to the whiteboard and proceeded to write down every number, every formula, every single letter that the teacher put up there, including the names of people who hadn’t handed in their homework yet, including the list of dates that had absolutely no meaning or relevance to him, including the places that exams were going to happen at come the end of the school year.

This time, he didn’t feel the eyes that were glued to him, didn’t hear whatever reference, if any, the teacher made to him and his presence there. He didn’t notice what the time was, or how slowly or quickly it passed; at this point, Demyx was only existing. He asked nothing, answered nothing, felt absolutely nothing.

They were numbers. That was _all_ they were. He didn’t even need Lucrecia to tell him that, didn’t automatically need her to hold his head in place and his hands on the desk to keep him from curling into a ball, didn’t need her to press the ballpoint determinedly into his grasp. He could handle numbers; after all, he dealt with them while shopping, didn’t he? If he started with a certain amount of gil, and purchased certain items, that initial number of gil would be reduced. He counted days, counted minutes and hours, months, the years since his birth. None of it caused him to choke. This was no different, this was _school._

No one was going to come along and shoot him for being wrong.

No one was going to come along and shoot him.

No one was going to come along and –

“Demyx.”

There was only a slight pulse in his posture at the voice, but to his still mind, it had been the equivalent of a startled scream. He turned his head fractionally, wide-eyed, unspeaking, to see Zexion standing at the doorway of the room. He blinked at the man, not quite understanding the fact that he was there. Demyx frowned and glanced around at the rest of the room – everyone was still in place, class hadn’t finished yet, which was good, he supposed, since he could only imagine how bad it would look to still be sitting there spacing out this badly after everyone had already left.

He turned his attention back to the English teacher, a slight question in his bearing. Zexion gestured, a little impatiently. “Like I said, I have a message for you. You have permission to leave class, Demyx – please come with me.”

The boy sat there for a blank moment, brain slowly grinding back into gear, reconnecting with wary confusion to the present. Then, with hands that felt half-numb, he packed away his two pages of meticulously-written notes, not even knowing what any of them meant, and stood. He wondered, faintly, if leaving early was going to become a habit of his now. He went to meet Zexion at the door, feeling dazed. The man said something fuzzily across his shoulder to the mathematics teacher – the name of whom Demyx suddenly realised he didn’t even know – and then closed the door firmly, tapped the blond’s elbow and started walking, expecting him to keep up.

Operating automatically, Dem trailed alongside him, down the empty halls, passing in and out of aural range of the various classes, voices swelling and fading with each door. There was silence between he and Zexion, the man having not said a single word since they left the class. He didn’t look at Demyx, didn’t try to engage his attention – his lips, when the blond glanced over with slowly, dully growing awareness, were pressed together tightly.

Just as the first stirrings of self-preservation were beginning to come into play – Dem’s heart sped up a little, palms moistening, tongue coming out to wet his lips nervously – Zexion veered, opened the door to an empty classroom, and ushered him inside. Demyx was shut in with him before he even had a chance to think, let alone protest. He wasn’t even given the chance to start to panic properly – Zexion had him sitting in the nearest desk instantly, taking his bag and setting it neatly against the legs of the chair. He took the seat from the next desk and dragged it over, sitting down facing Demyx, fixing the blond with an intent look. It all happened within the space of about twenty seconds, and Demyx felt like he’d been grabbed and forcibly shaken. He didn’t even know what he was _here_ for.

Sounding deadly serious, Zexion leaned forward and asked, “Now – are you all right? Can you speak?” If it had been at all possible, Dem’s bewilderment spiralled even higher. He just – he stared. The man’s eyes searched his face for a moment, before quietly continuing, “Sir Auron has given me the number of your outpatient psychotherapist. I can call her if you need me to, Demyx.”

The mention of Auron, of _Lucrecia,_ was what got him going at last. Eyelids fluttering, brows drawing together, Demyx shook his head slightly with incomprehension. “…What?”

Zexion looked relieved. He relaxed from his tense position, sat back and curled his hands together, nodding once, whether to himself or to Demyx, the blond wasn’t sure. He continued to watch the man cautiously.

“I don’t…” His brain, finally, flared to life, switches being thrown, intelligence filtering through. “Why did you pull me… out of class?”

Zexion took a breath. “Axel came to warn me that you were acting strangely after he mentioned that you smell like disinfectant.” His eyes rolled faintly. “Concerned that perhaps he’d missed something, I called your guardian to double-check things, and we came to the realisation that it was your timetable causing the trouble.”

Demyx’s head lowered, a frown forming. “…Oh. You don’t need to worry. I didn’t, like, draw any negative attention to myself or anything.” He looked up, saying earnestly, “I _was_ going to stay there, I wasn’t planning on just walking out again.”

Zexion studied him for a short while, gaze slowly taking him in. “Are you cold, Demyx?”

Demyx’s puzzlement at the situation, which had been tentatively clearing, promptly swamped his brain again. “I’m… not cold.”

“I’m used to seeing you wearing more than that, that’s all,” the man pointed out.

Demyx glanced down at himself – what, did he forget pants? Shoes? He felt all there… Oh. Bare right arm – his arm sock. And – he’d forgotten his Sora-hat today, but he supposed his hair was probably thanking him for that. He’d just – today really wasn’t his day, was all. He should’ve stayed in the apartment, instead of coming to school for the express purpose of watching Auron stomp off-campus for whatever reason, before just about having a meltdown because people wanted him to divide and times numbers.

Sometimes, Demyx really became aware of how absolutely ridiculous his life had become. What the _hell_ had happened to normal? Once upon a time, he’d been its poster-boy. Now, it had spat on him in rejection.

“Yeah, I – we were in a rush this morning, I guess,” he said softly.

Zexion regarded him curiously. “You have an interesting relationship with Sir Auron. He sounded… disturbed, to know that you’d been put into the mathematics class.” Head tilting slightly to the side, he continued to watch the teen, who caught his face in his hands for a moment before rubbing his tired eyes.

“I don’t do well with numbers,” was all the blond would say, before raising his eyes to Zexion’s dubiously. “It’s nothing big. Nothing worth discussing.” A moment passed, in which Demyx took a long, slow breath. Then, right before Zexion’s eyes… Demyx transformed. It was like watching a flower unfurl, only… not so natural and lovely. Propping his elbows on the desk, Demyx laced his fingers together, chin falling onto his knuckles, and smiled broadly, a blindingly pretty expression, false but convincing. Zexion’s stomach twisted slightly at the sight, both the unexpected sweetness in the look, along with the absolute… wrongness of it on the teen’s features.

Abruptly cheerful, Demyx asked, “So, what did Auron say, other than giving you Lucrecia’s number?”

The teacher’s gaze had intensified during the change, developing a hooded quality. He seemed faintly hesitant, but said, “…Now that it’s ascertained you haven’t suffered any sort of major crisis over it – Sir Auron warned me that you might have stopped speaking, for any number of days – ” Demyx twitched slightly at having had that related, but his smile remained strong, “ – he said that he’ll find out about getting you tutored outside of the school. He promised that he’d get in touch with your doctor, and asked if you could call him to let him know that you’re okay. Do you need to use the school phone?”

Demyx frowned at this, but nodded. “Yeah… I mean – ” He closed his eyes, shook his head. “No, I have – Auron gave me a cell phone.” He reached down, unclipped his bag and drew it out, wagged it from side to side, saying gaily, “His is the only number on it!” He faltered under Zexion’s withering look. “…What?”

The man swivelled in his chair, preparing to rise, rapping his knuckles lightly on the surface of the desk. “It’s nothing.” He stood, hands automatically smoothing the hem of his shirt, glancing around the room. “You have a free double-period prior to lunch; no relevant subjects occur during that time. Once you’ve made the call to your guardian, come out to me in the hall. I’ll take you into my next class, and you can take your regular seat and either listen or do some reading, all right?” The man gave a slight half-smile. “I don’t even mind if you sleep, I suppose.” His unobscured eye narrowed a little. “You look,” he added softly, “like you could use it, Demyx.”

The blond was left sitting there, clutching the cell phone to his chest, feeling much smaller than he had when he’d entered the room. Listening to the click of the door as it latched shut was somehow lonely.

He lifted the phone, thumbed through the menu and auto-dialled Auron’s number. He listened to it ring only once before the guardian picked up. _“Demyx?”_

“I’m okay,” the blond said quietly. “I – didn’t think you’d be worried.”

“ _I’ve already spoken to Lucrecia. Your schedule’s being changed as we speak. We won’t make you do that, so don’t think about it anymore.”_

The blond slumped in his chair, forehead pressing to the wooden surface of the table. He mumbled, “Okay.” The tip of one thumb found his eye, crushing the side of its tear duct. “I’m tired. Can I go home? Zexion’s just gonna have me sitting in his class doing nothing for the next two periods, anyway…”

“ _I liked him. He’s sensible. No, I think you’re better off staying. Finish your classes, and I’ll meet you at home. This is a milestone, Demyx – Lucrecia wants you to overcome it.”_

Demyx rolled from one side of his face onto the other, sighing heavily. His free hand formed a tight fist that lightly, silently, pounded the desktop. What he wouldn’t have given to be able to just… _just…_

“…Fine.” He disconnected the call without saying good-bye, figuring that the man would understand his feelings in the matter. And even if he didn’t – fuck him. It was Demyx that was going through it all. He deserved to not have to be permanently polite – that couldn’t possibly be misconstrued as aggression. He was _allowed_ to be unhappy.

And yet, despite this, as he dragged himself up to standing, leaning heavily on the desk for a long minute, struggling to recapture some of the calm determination he’d had every other day of the week, he prepared himself to completely wrench his features out of shape. His lips twisted upward, chest filling with air, pretending that it was lightness, that he could use it to power his smiles, bloat his words, seem normal and nice and unsuspicious.

He turned to the door, features still caught in their grimacing state before being switched completely on, and found himself facing Zexion, who had opened the door quietly and was leaning on the doorframe, expression inscrutable. Demyx froze awkwardly, caught in the act.

“I heard your voice stop,” the man explained neutrally. Why did Demyx feel like he’d been found doing something wrong? Or – or weird? Like he’d been walked in on injecting something into a vein. “Are you ready to go? The bell will ring in a few minutes.”

The blond hesitated, torn between continuing his charade or dropping it in the likelihood that his educator could see precisely what it was that he was up to.

But – if he didn’t continue, he didn’t… he didn’t really know what to do. He couldn’t go around being miserable. Not today – he _needed_ this line of defence.

So he took a breath… and he grinned at the man. “Sure,” he said, sounding for all the world like a natural human being. “I’m ready when you are.”

Zexion ushered him out, and together, each of them acting as if nothing were at all out of place, they left room, and continued on to the English building.

 


	8. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

Zexion’s classroom was empty when the pair arrived, though Demyx couldn’t help but hesitate at the door. As his teacher went about picking up scraps of paper from the ground, generally straightening things out, Demyx shifted from foot to foot.

Glancing over, seeming to understand, considering the way the blond had behaved during their meeting the previous morning, Zexion said, “I haven’t had a class yet today. My first one begins after this double-period.” He added in a grumble, “Yesterday’s class didn’t pick up after themselves. The cleaners won’t touch a room that’s left in a bad state.” He pushed his white shirt-sleeves up to his elbows, going from desk to desk, crouching down every few seconds, hands gathering and crumpling the leftover sheets of paper. Straightening, pressing his knuckles into his lower back as if the constant bending was causing a twinge, Zexion idly inspected the floor. Looking over at Demyx again, he gestured lightly. “Come in, sit down. We’ve got another ten minutes before the exchange. I just didn’t feel like getting caught in the halls with everyone else.”

Smiling, Demyx nodded once, shortly, and crossed to his regular desk. Upon reaching it, however, he sighed. “Poisoned.”

Zexion, brushing his hands off into the small metal wastebasket beside his own desk, glanced over. “Hm?”

Demyx shook his head, said, “Nothing, don’t worry about it.” He sat under the man’s watchful gaze, placing his bag over the carved letters in the surface of the wood, almost exactly like the ones from Paine’s room. Hands clasping between his knees, shoulders hunching, he gave Zexion a bright, thin-lipped look. The man was slowly wiping his hands on his pants, watching Demyx carefully, but again, whatever he was thinking, he said nothing of. He went to his desk, wheels squeaking as he sat, picking up a pen. Instead of instantly launching into marking papers and whatnot, however, he merely balanced it on its tip, toying with it slightly, and met Demyx’s gaze. “I was speaking to Sora,” he said casually, after a short silence. “He said you got into a college of music? Orchestra?”

Demyx’s cheeks burned, head automatically dipping down. He’d have to start censoring how much he said about himself, if everything he related to the spiky-haired kid ended up being instantly relayed back to his English teacher. “Yeah. But I didn’t feel like it.”

“You applied for it, though, correct? In order to be accepted, you must have at least put out some feelers,” the man reasoned. Demyx’s brows rose slightly, hand coming out to rest upon his bag, fingernail scratching at its perforated fabric.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “I thought about it. And… my d-dad really wanted me to go for it. But in the end, I didn’t… feel like it.” He flashed Zexion an awkward smile, shoulders lifting in a shrug. “Ha-ha, I felt like – exploring the world for a while.” His feet rolled onto the edges of his sneakers, left knee jigging slightly as he added, “Who’da thunk it, right? Should’ve gone to college when I had the chance, maybe.”

Zexion rested his chin on his knuckles, continuing to play with the pen. “Maybe,” he conceded, “but maybe not. Was your college of choice anywhere near the border between worlds that ShinRa set up?”

Demyx hesitated, fingers drumming briefly against his bag. “I guess not. It was closer to home. Instead, I was on the other side of the country, which is where the – border occurred.” He was growing agitated by the subject, eyes beginning to dart. Deciding to not push his luck, Zexion swayed the conversation back towards its original topic, asking, “So you’re a musician, then?”

Fingers now drawing small circles on the tough black material, Demyx smiled again, nodded. “Yep, that’s me.” Zexion frowned slightly. The teen’s tension wasn’t abating.

“Which instrument?”

“Does it matter?” Demyx lightly returned, head tilting to the side. “If you guess it, I’ll tell you.”

Zexion pushed a hand through his hair, momentarily revealing his other eye, both narrowed speculatively. He looked divided between taking up the challenge, and recognising it for the blatant evasion it was and pointing it out. But hell, he hadn’t pointed out anything else yet – why begin now? “…A guitar.”

“Nope.”

“Does Sir Auron know?”

“Auron knows everything,” Demyx replied evenly. He smiled sweetly, head quirking to the side. “No secrets from ShinRa.”

The hair fell back down. “Piano.”

“I haven’t got the fingers for it.” He held up his hands, wiggled them for him to see. “I’ve got the length but none of the grace.”

Dryly, Zexion responded, “I wasn’t aware inherent grace was any particular requirement for playing piano.”

“I’m too sloppy for piano,” the blond insisted. His hands fell back down, fingers joining together in his lap. His left leg continued to bounce with nervous energy, though he appeared to have, for the moment, calmed with the guessing game.

The air around Zexion was quieter than it was with Sora; Demyx didn’t feel so permanently on-guard, perhaps because the man seemed more able to defend himself than the kid. Any time that he was in the presence of someone he could potentially overpower, he _felt_ like a threat, felt like he was perceived as one, even if Sora _was_ preternaturally accepting of him. Zexion’s no-nonsense exterior forbade him from freaking out on any level. He still felt it, still felt the whisper-thinness of his skin, the way that his mind was jumpy and unsettled from the day, week, and life so far… but it was coming slowly under control. Very slowly. A one-cell-per-hour type of pace. Which was, he supposed, better than nothing at all.

When Zexion didn’t attempt again, he waved a hand impatiently. “Keep going.”

The man arched a brow. “I was under the impression you didn’t want me to figure it out.”

“You won’t,” the blond confidently replied. “But I get a kick out of watching you swing in the dark, so… keep going. Keep guessing.”

To Zexion, it didn’t look like Demyx was getting a kick out of anything _–_ there was an anxiety hanging around him like a fog, evident in the small, constant movements the teen couldn’t help but make, a scratch here, a tap there, a breath, a sigh. Zexion wondered if he was even aware of the powerhouse of activity he was right now. He glanced down at his watch. There was time to indulge the blond a little longer. Sweeping a thumb through his long fringe, he sat back, folded his arms, studied Demyx closely. “So, I won’t guess it?” The blond shook his head. “…An oboe.”

“Not a chance.”

Zexion rolled his eyes up, running through the list of instruments he was aware of the existence of. “It’ll be something odd, then, if it’s not immediately evident.” He rubbed his forehead with a thumb and forefinger. “For the love of God, tell me it’s not the bagpipes.”

Demyx, unexpectedly for either of them, gave a loud, sharp laugh. He smothered himself a moment later, hand covering his mouth, looking faintly startled, before shaking his head. “You guys have those, too, huh?”

Zexion shrugged. “Surely you’ve noticed the running themes between your world and mine. I don’t even know your world, but so far, it’s been similar with other worlds along the Gummi routes, so I see no reason why yours should be any different.” There was a beat, then, “Harp.”

“No verve,” the blond scoffed.

Outside, the bell went off shrilly, painfully loud even from inside the class. Demyx wondered how it was they hadn’t all been permanently deafened by the recurring cacophony, but Zexion barely batted an eyelid at the clamour. He stopped playing with the pen, fingers stilling, before laying it down on the desk. “And that concludes today’s episode of you watching me ‘swing in the dark’.” He smiled faintly, pushed his chair back, ran his hands through his hair once again, then stood, assuming a more disciplinary air. He went and opened the door, then picked up the wastebasket and sat on the edge of his desk, the bin between his legs, his knees three inches from Demyx.

The hall outside exploded with chaos as students poured out of their various classes, voices mingling, footsteps thudding, the nearby staircase echoing. It took only about a minute for the first arrivals to the English room, the seniors hesitating sharply at the sight of Demyx sitting unexpectedly among them. Zexion merely waved them in, a hint of impatience in his bearing. “If you make yourselves late because you’re too busy gawking at the new-worlder,” he informed them, “you’ll be locked out. Take your seats, please.” By the time he’d dealt with this several times, he’d been reduced to simply saying, _“In!”_ in the same sort of chilly tone that he’d used initially on Demyx’s own class.

The room was uneasy, unsettled, restlessness thick in the air. Once everyone had arrived, Zexion faced them with a pleasant smile, still sitting on his desk. “Good morning, class! As you’ll have noticed, we have a visitor with us today. I trust you’ll be as courteous to Demyx as you are to one another, and then just a little bit _more.”_ His head lifted a little, a brightness in his personality that was out of character, making Demyx stare and wonder. Forefingers tapping the sides of the wastebasket, he continued, “We’ve got a lot to get through in this lesson, and I want you all working to full capacity, no note-passing, no paper-aeroplane construction, generally none of the distraction that evidently plagued you yesterday afternoon when I, innocent and naïve as I am, believed you to be silently studying whilst I focused on marking your grades.” He held up the bin, waited until everyone was looking at it. “The evidence of your transgressions,” he explained, before holding it out to one side and tipping it upside down. All the scraps he’d collected upon arrival spilled and tumbled to the carpet, along with the pencil shavings, dust, general debris and several apple cores that had already been within.

For once, all eyes weren’t on Demyx – the class was staring at the mess on the ground with growing despair.

“I’m tempted,” Zexion said mildly, “to kick it up and down the room, really spread it out… but that would be nasty of me, and as well we all know, nastiness, innocence and naivety rarely do all go together hand-in-hand. So I suppose you lucked out, there.” He leaned over, dropped the wastebasket back to the ground with a clang, dusting his hands together as he straightened. “Back row, you’re the worst offenders – get up here and clean it up.” He sucked in a breath, rolled his eyes heavenward and muttered, “Why do I suddenly feel like I signed up to teach a bunch of elementary-schoolers?”

Demyx was smiling, the first genuine one of the day, Zexion catching sight of it and giving a slight smirk back. It dropped a second later as, to the class at large, he announced, “Bags off desks, books out, etcetera. Like I said, we’ve got a lot to get done.”

Demyx obeyed along with the rest of them, and as Zexion slipped onto his feet again, he glanced down at the blond’s desk. He paused, and for a long, long moment, he stayed perfectly still, caught mid-motion, hands and arms like the arranged limbs of a mannequin. Demyx glanced up curiously to find the man’s gaze on the surface of his desk, and followed it down to the large word carved into the wood.

“I don’t mind,” he said quickly, anxious to not cause a scene. Zexion, however, acted as if he hadn’t heard. Demyx may as well have not been sitting there.

Voice deadly quiet, causing an abrupt silence to ripple through the room at its cold quality, Zexion said, “Someone has been desecrating this desk. In my classroom.”

No one moved.

“Tell me, children – how many others have the word ‘poisoned’ scratched deeply onto their desks? Verbally now, I’m rather too enraged to look away just yet.” A lengthy pause developed. Not a word was uttered. Demyx sighed.

“I honestly don’t – ”

“Demyx, unless you’re opening your mouth to confess, _don’t_ open your mouth,” Zexion snapped. “Whether or not this _bothers_ you doesn’t come into it.” At long last, the man’s eyes lifted, slow and icy. They swept the room. “I am… sickened,” he said softly. Most students flinched. Those that didn’t were the ones not brave enough to meet his gaze. Another minute passed, before he finally left his position between his desk and Demyx’s. He went around to the other side, got a piece of paper and a pen, wrote for a while, then folded the sheet over, holding it out frostily to Demyx. “Here. This is for you. Take it to Axel, and don’t take any ridiculousness from him. I want you out of my room.”

The blond winced at the lash of his words. Trying to instil a sense of perspective into the man, he struggled for calm, saying, “Listen, I’ve put up with a lot more than – ”

Zexion positively snarled, “ _Now,_ Demyx. I want you _out._ You are not to return until I _say_ so. You are no longer _welcome_ in this classroom.”

Wide blue eyes taking in the sight of the irrationally furious man, Demyx shut up. He licked his lips quickly, then stood with more sharpness than he should have, the chair rocking a little behind him. He snatched the white note from Zexion’s hand, looped his bag over his head. Staring for a hesitant moment, he stated, fighting to keep the tremor from his voice, “I can take care of myself, you know.”

Zexion ignored him, his eyes sliding past the blond to the rest of the class. Clutching the note, Demyx walked stiffly out of the room, into the hall, and nearly had a heart attack as the door was slammed viciously in his wake, hard enough to rattle the glass, cracking like a gunshot up and down the passageway. He was frozen in place for several seconds, pulse thundering from the shock. He half-expected to hear the man start screaming at the class, for whom he held nothing but pity, but either Zexion wasn’t a shouter, or he was waiting until he was certain the blond had left.

Not wanting to stick around and find out which version was truth, Demyx unsteadily retraced his earlier steps. It was lucky, he thought in a stricken sort of way, that he was quick to adapt, otherwise he would’ve been lost in moments. He was fortunate enough also that the buildings all had a similar structure – he didn’t feel like wandering around here by himself. Not today of all days.

He exited into the blasting cold, noticing it for the first time all morning, since it was the first time he wasn’t distracted by struggling to not find a corner to go rock in for a while. The wind had started up again, from whatever version of stillness it managed to gain from time to time, and whipped at the blond. He heard the small chains on his jeans rattle quietly against the denim, felt it blow through his two measly shirts as if he was going around bare-chested. Cursing softly, he glanced around quickly, then took off at an inelegant half-jog, half-power walk, wanting to get out of the line of fire as soon as possible.

Unfamiliar with how to get into the main building from the central courtyard, he was forced to make his way around to the front of the school, pushing through the broad glass doors, sneakers squeaking on the hard floor. One last harsh gust followed him and exhausted itself, dying off into stillness as the door swung shut behind him, steps taking him swiftly down the black-and-white checkered hall, the note crushed tight. Upon reaching the administration office, he paused, composed himself, nervous of perhaps running into Ansem. For lack of anything better to do, he knocked lightly before entering.

Axel looked up in surprise at the knock, then lifted his eyebrows high over his glasses as he absorbed the sight of Demyx standing there uncomfortably, cheeks slapped red by the outdoors. The office phone’s handset was resting against his shoulder. A pencil in his other hand, he beckoned with a finger, frowning in puzzlement. “Close the door behind you,” he reminded, before his expression changed, head tilting sideways to the phone, clamping it in place as he poised his hands over the computer’s keys. “Yep?” He started typing quickly, the rhythmic pitter-patter soothingly familiar. Demyx exhaled slowly, approached the counter and carefully placed Zexion’s note on the surface, wondering abruptly why he hadn’t thought to read it himself, gain some insight into what the hell was going through the man’s mind. “Uh-huh,” Axel murmured. His bright eyes darted over as Demyx left the offering, glancing down at it with a scowl. “Yeah, I know what you mean,” he said to the person on the phone. “I can see what Ansem has to say about it, at any rate, but I really don’t think there’s going to be a problem. It’s a matter for the treasurer.”

Demyx stood awkwardly in place for a moment, then wandered over to where the water cooler sat, drawing one of the small plastic cups and filling it quietly. He sat on the nearest chair, sipping and waiting.

“Okay, then. Yeah. I’ll call if there’s a problem, otherwise the transaction should be fine for Friday. Yeah, you too. Have a nice day.” The phone clicked onto its cradle, the redhead saying, “What the hell, mad-worlder? What’re you doing here?” Long fingers slid the note off the counter, unfolding it, glasses adjusted and eyes narrowing. Axel’s lips moved silently as he read whatever Zexion had written, before stopping abruptly. “…Right.” He glanced over at Demyx, waved the page. “You seen this already, kid? Snuck a peek?” The teen shook his head wordlessly. Axel sighed. “Right. Well. Basically, Zexy’s gone on an ignorance rage – I told you how he’s a hardass, right? This is why. The second you act like a dumbass, he’s all over you like a creepy proctologist.”

Demyx was confused. “And I was… a dumbass?”

“Well, yes and no.” The redhead’s green gaze returned to the note, sucking air through his teeth. “Seems that your refusal to join him in said rage has got him pissy, but other than that, he’s going to be reaming out a class full of kids that probably didn’t even have anything to do with it for the next half-hour or so, before treating them to the coldest shoulder they’ll ever experience in their lives.” He grinned over the desk. “See, I have personal experience in the matter. Poor bastards. None of his classes are going to have a fun day.”

Demyx eyed him dubiously. “So, then – how come I’m _here?”_

Axel scrunched up the note. “You, my dear crazy person from the world of the zombies, are now officially being babysat by none other than yours truly. You’re not allowed back to Zexy’s room until someone gets a new desk in it, apparently, so you’re sitting in with me til lunchtime rolls around. I’ll get Sora to come pick you up when it comes, and he and Riku’ll take you to gym afterwards.” In response to the blond’s unhappy expression, he raised his hands, saying, “Hey, don’t blame me, okay? And I’d take you to the library or something, but – ” As if on cue, the phone started ringing. Axel snatched it up, greeted, “Midgar Academy, Sector Three, this is Axel speaking. How can I help you?”

As he listened with half an ear to the person on the other end, he waved a hand at Demyx, inviting him behind the desk. Reluctantly, the blond heaved himself up, shuffled around through the gap between the counter and the wall, finding himself in Axel’s cramped quarters, most of it taken up by three large filing cabinets and the L-shaped desk on which the receptionist had his computer, various large logbooks, a series of drawers tucked here and there, and three baskets for ingoing, outgoing, and stagnant mail and paperwork. It was gloriously messy, pens and papers strewn across every spare inch, plus a small, twisted bamboo plant in a short, square pot tucked into the corner beside the keyboard.

Groping to the side, slowly saying, “Yeaaah…” he hooked a finger around a stool that was stored under the far end, dragging it out for Demyx to sit on, which he did uneasily, not liking the way it made him tower over the red-haired man. “No, I’m sorry we can’t help you with something like that. What you need to do is get the information that was sent out at the start of the year and – yes, I get that, but – ” He shot a look at Demyx, rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh. Right, well, like I said, on the info from the start of year, there’s the cell-phone numbers of _all_ the secondary staff. Leave a message with your son’s teacher, and she can call you back when she gets the time, okay? Okay. Bye.” He hung up. “I fucking hate the parents at this place.” He grabbed a sheet of paper, wrote something quickly, stuck it in the outbox. “Hey, you got a book to read or something? Do me a favour, will you? Just sit there and look pretty, don’t touch anything, don’t speak a whole heap – I’ve got way too much on my plate for Zexy to be pulling this crap right now.” With that, he pulled out his small red cell phone, dialled quickly, dragged open a spiral-bound notebook and got his pen ready. “Yes, hi, I need to confirm a booking for Saturday night…?”

For nearly two hours, Demyx sat there, staring dully at his surroundings, occasionally jerking his legs to the side when Axel would spontaneously explode backward on the wheels of his chair and spin to access the filing cabinet, just about knocking them both off their asses due to the fact that he kept forgetting Demyx was even there. It was utterly mindless, and, somehow, kind of comforting. The blond listened to Axel rant and rave into his cell phone, be smooth and polite to most of the ones that called on the school line, except for when it was his friend who apparently complained that he couldn’t get through on the cell – _“So fucking wait for half a minute, Marls, don’t call the goddamn school!” –_ and generally watched a lot of paperwork get filled out and filed away. He wouldn’t have thought the life of a high-school receptionist was so action-packed, but evidently the school had known what they were doing when they indentured the redhead for five years instead of sending him away to prison. It was kind of nice to see someone _else_ freaking out for a change – it distracted him from his own troubles, quietened the churning in his chest, the part of him that was hurt by Zexion’s treatment.

At last, Axel flipped his wrist over, inspected the digital watch clasped against its underside, released a great breath and picked up the phone. He pressed a series of buttons, held the mouthpiece to his lips, and suddenly, Demyx could hear him everywhere, echoing out in the hall and beyond, drawling, _“Will the owner of the giant puffy jacket and the beanie as red as my hair please make his way to the office with the lunch bell? That’s all, thank you.”_

He hung up, and a moment later, a muffled call came through the wall: _“Axel…”_

“Sorry, sir!” the redhead shouted back, before adding in a mutter to Demyx, “But – it’s _Sora._ He knows who he is!”

Like clockwork, the bells throughout the school went off in tandem, though it was quieter from in here, not the regular deafening screech from almost everywhere else. Sora was the first to burst into the office, a bare three minutes after Axel had sent the message, panting and clutching his scarlet hat in one hand, wrenched off during what looked to have been a mad dash from one end of the school to the other. His eyes alighted on Demyx sitting quietly in the corner, and he jolted, startled. “Oh! Oh, fuck!” He gasped in a lungful of air, bending over, a hand pressing into his knee as he coughed. Axel and Demyx exchanged glances, the redhead leaning his elbows onto the high counter of the desk, observing the kid.

“ _You_ took your time,” he commented idly, getting a fierce middle finger in response as the teen continued to pant for sufficient oxygen. Roxas meandered in at this point, only slightly out of breath. He tossed a wave to Axel.

“Hey.”

The older man raised an eyebrow, nodded to the dying figure in the middle of the office. “What’s up with happy?”

“He sprinted,” Roxas revealed blithely. “Me, I jogged, but Sora’s been waiting to find out what class he’s meant to pick Demyx up from. He figured in the end that you were going to do it, so when you called him, he thought that meant he’d have to find out from you and then go get him from wherever else he was on campus.”

“I didn’t – want Demyx to – have to wait,” Sora managed, before expelling a spit-laden breath, head dropping back down. _“Goddamn,_ I’m unfit.”

“There you go,” Axel said to Demyx, gesturing to Sora as if settling an old argument. “Even if Zexy’s being a bitch, you’ll always have Sora to come running when you’re in need.” He reached out an arm, stretching across the desk, and gestured a finger to Roxas. “Come here, you, I need some staying power.”  
“Zexy’s being a bitch?” Roxas echoed with mild curiosity, crossing to him. The redhead shrugged.

“That time of month, yadda, yadda.” He grabbed the blond once he was within range and drew him in for a long, involved kiss, Demyx directing his gaze elsewhere. Eyes rolling, still recovering but on the mend, Sora grabbed a handful of his sleeve and tugged, straightening most of the way and heading for the door. “We’ll see you guys later,” he said over his shoulder, which drew a muffled grunt of protest from Roxas, who pushed Axel off with a wet noise.

“Wait, I’ll be right there.”

“Sure you will, Rox. As soon as you’ve made a full mouth-swap of saliva, right?” The kid huffed. “Not interested in watching, I’m happy to say.”

“Oh, like this is any different to what I find you and Riku up to when you’re supposedly _studying?”_ the blond yelled after him, as Sora led Demyx away by the wrist.

“ _La-la-la, I can’t hear you,”_ Sora bellowed, the blast of his voice causing a nearby girl to drop her books. Or… maybe that part was just because she’d caught sight of Demyx’s tattoos. Considering the way she was gazing in terror, Demyx was pretty sure it was actually option B. Come to think of it, she might have even been one of the ones that had run away the previous afternoon… but then, all these potential victims looked the same, he supposed with a slight sigh.

Noticing the breath, Sora glanced over, releasing him and bringing his hat up, twisting it around to open it before pulling it carefully over his brown spikes, the vivid crimson of it making the blue of his eyes just about leap from his face. “So – Zexy being a bitch, tell me about it.”

“It’s not a problem.”

Demyx’s voice was calm, the answer immediate, Sora’s expression becoming shrewd. “Uh-huh.” He hitched the straps of his bag more securely over his shoulders. “Just like it wasn’t a problem for Roxas to say what he said yesterday at lunch?”

Demyx shot him an unimpressed look. “That was different. And I mean it. It’s nothing worth discussing.”

“I’ve known you for three days, and _how_ many times have I heard you say that?” When Demyx didn’t respond, Sora shrugged resignedly. “Enough to know when to shut my mouth, I guess. So, are you eating today, or not? I’ve got Riku on standby at the cafeteria in case you want something.”

Demyx considered – he had yet to eat today, after the debacle that destroyed the new morning routine of Auron forcing a pastry down his throat. The man _had_ been trying to get him to eat a bowl of cereal, though now, of course, it was soaked in what was probably the same pine-scented cleaner that Axel used to wash his floors… But, once again, the thought of actually consuming anything made him feel worse than he already did. He shook his head mutely, making Sora nod. “Fine.” He pulled out his phone, pressed a button, spoke into it a moment later, saying, “He’s not hungry. See you soon.”

The pair returned to yesterday’s sunny spot near the athletics track, though Demyx shivered despite the brightness, inciting a disapproving look from the shorter boy. “Where’s your hat? Where’s your arm sock? Don’t tell me they’re denying you _that?”_

Demyx shook his head weakly, arms wrapped tight around himself. “No, today I just – I forgot.” He closed his eyes, reached up to massage them lightly. “I’m so tired,” he muttered. Sora looked abruptly sympathetic.

“Just one of those days, huh?”

Demyx huffed a wryly sour laugh. “Yeah. _One_ of them.”

“One of those ‘zombies-ate-my-house’ years, then?”

Demyx’s hand fell away. He opened his eyes, staring blankly at the kid, who was looking suddenly like he was wondering if the joke had been made in poor taste. But then Demyx smiled, like he’d smiled in front of Zexion when the man had been so obviously pleased with himself for tormenting his class – a flicker of true humour shining dully through the layers upon layers of defensiveness, struggling control, anguish and self-destructive determination. Sora blinked for a moment, then returned it with one of his own, a sheepish cast to it, but happy.

“You know? That felt like progress,” he grinned. Shaking his head with faint amusement, Demyx sat beside him, Sora leaving his books alone this time, the two of them watching the track-and-field team doing stretches at the opposite end of the track.

Riku arrived several minutes later, carrying a cardboard holder with three Styrofoam cups steaming from it. The silver-haired teen’s eyes flicked over the two of them, asking as he approached, “No Roxas?”

“Axel,” Sora replied, by way of explanation, to which Riku wrinkled his nose. Then he shrugged.

“Oh, well, he misses out on soup.” He sat on the other side of Sora, but to look at them, Demyx could see nothing which suggested that they spent their ‘study’ time trying to inhale each other’s faces like he’d seen Axel and Roxas attempt to do. The boy pulled out the first white cup, handed it to Sora, then leaned over with the second one, offering it to Demyx. “I know you, like, _don’t eat_ and all, according to Sora, but if you want it, it’s yours. It’s chicken-noodle, the caf does it during winter, and it’s pretty good.” He smiled a little. “It’s good for you. And it’s nothing that can be hurled up later if you get especially nervous, as Zexion seems to think you do.”

Disgruntled, Demyx asked, “What did you people _talk_ about before I came along?”

 “Celebrity gossip,” Sora offered, peeling the lid off his cup, peering in at the hot innards. Riku shook the one he was holding slightly.

“Last chance,” he warned. “I’m not going to burn my fingerprints off while you think it through.”

Cautiously, hesitantly, the blond reached across, took the warm-to-touch cup. “…Thank you,” he ventured.

“No problem,” the boy replied dismissively, as if it really _wasn’t_ one. As if giving a cup of soup to some random guy that had been sitting with them for all of three days didn’t faze him in the slightest – and it really _didn’t._

“I’ll get you the money,” Demyx muttered, reaching for his bag. He was stopped sharply by Sora’s hand cutting under his wrist, a stern, exasperated look.

“It’s soup. It’s like – a gil a cup. Keep it for what matters, okay?”

Again, the blond had to churn this through his brain, come to terms with the fact that all of this was – so small for them. When he thought about it, though, wouldn’t it have been the same for him, in their situation? Long ago, when he was a high-schooler… if things like this had been somewhere vaguely normal, like having someone from a random world sitting with you at lunch… wouldn’t he have acted in much the same way?

…He hoped so. He really did.

He drank his soup.

And... it made him feel better, like chicken-noodle soup sometimes does.

 


	9. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

The bell rang to signal the end of lunch. Sora and Riku rose regretfully, packing away their few scattered belongings, Riku stuffing their empty soup cups into his backpack, reaching out a hand and gesturing for Demyx to give his over. Blinking, the blond passed the empty Styrofoam container across, watched it being shoved away before the boy zipped the bag back up, slinging it over his shoulder.

“Don’t you think it’ll be better if you, you know, put those in – a bin?” he ventured. “Your books might get damp.”

Sora shook his head, looping an arm through Dem’s, taking the lead and tugging him along. “Oh, no, you don’t bother looking for a bin on Wednesdays. Gym, man, _gym.”_

Stomach sinking, Demyx remembered. _“Oh.”_ As he stumbled along through the campus beside Sora, his insides crawled at the thought of enduring another session with Saix, wondering what horrible advice he’d have for his students this time. Auron could say whatever he liked after the fact, they could all complain as much as they wanted – it didn’t mean the man was going to be deterred from his sport. Demyx had met people like Saix out in the regular world, even back on his own world – men like that didn’t just subside. Not the ones that went out of their way to be unnecessarily cruel.

Instead of going directly into the gymnasium this time, the two boys led Demyx into the locker-rooms a couple doors down. They entered the cold atmosphere, shoes passing over tiles. The room was half filled with males in various stages of undress, a wave of focused hostility zeroing in on Demyx the moment they noticed his presence. As yet, no one was brave enough to speak to him, but he could sense, as he passed among them with Riku and Sora flanking him supportively, that the day of reckoning wasn’t much further off. He’d been waiting for an explosion of some kind since entering this society, and was becoming pretty certain that it would find its advent here, among the youths of Midgar.

Looking uncomfortable, Riku stopped at his locker, Sora taking the one beside it, the two of them pulling them open with identical bangs, taking out pairs of sweatpants and shirts. Glancing over at Demyx, Sora curiously asked, “Dem, don’t you have a locker?”

 _Dem._ The blond felt a jolt at the nickname. How did this kid do it? How did he just assume friendship after only three days with someone that was commonly misconceived as some kind of dangerous criminal?

Weakly, Demyx shook his head. “I don’t think so. Axel never told me, at least. I – I have the one near yours in the main building, but other than that…”

Riku frowned. “Saix was probably supposed to assign you one, that’s the sort of thing he’s in charge of.” Sora snorted his opinion of this. “I guess you haven’t got a pair of sweats on under those?” the silver-haired teen joked, nodding down at Demyx’s jeans. The blond glanced down, patted his denim thighs, shook his head slowly.

“No one told me…”

Sora shook his head impatiently. “Honestly, could ShinRa _be_ more incompetent? Between our school and your benefactors, it’s a wonder you even know where to come each day.” As Demyx smiled crookedly, faintly uneasy at having ShinRa badmouthed in any way considering their all-encompassing power over his life and actions, the kid tossed his head at Riku. “You guys look closer in the waist than I do – give Demyx a pair of your pants, okay?”

Easily, the other senior replied, “No problem.” He dug out a spare pair of sweats and tossed them carelessly over his shoulder, forcing the gaping blond to lunge and catch them. Sora snickered, stripping down to his boxers and slipping swiftly into his loose clothing.

“Aren’t you worried about – about Saix making you shower for like, three hours longer for letting me share your _clothes?”_ Demyx asked, no longer capable of simply silently accepting their generosity. Riku snuffed a dry laugh, pulling his pants on.

“Not with my family,” the teen answered with a roll of the eyes. “Ten minutes, fine, but three hours is a little much, especially since he’s already been complained about. I have all these wonderful blood connections to all _sorts_ of different places, and a lot of cousins that could make life difficult for him.”

“Chyeah,” Sora grunted, pulling the hem of his shirt down around his hips. “If you ever see someone with silver hair and pretty clothes around Midgar, you’ll know they’re related to Riku.”

“‘Pretty’? My clothes are _pretty,_ Sora?” Attention splitting from his complaint, Riku added to Demyx, “Get into them, or we’ll be late.”

The room was clearing out fast as it was, the other students anxious to put distance between themselves and the tattooed other-worlder. Figuring there was little point in arguing further, Demyx stepped to the low bench running between the lockers, placing his bag down, fingers unbuckling his belt and removing his jeans. Laughing nervously as Sora and Riku slammed their lockers shut and turned to wait, he said, “You know, this was always the part of gym that I _hated.”_

Sora flashed a grin. “What, you don’t like multiple strip-teases every time you’re getting ready to get all sweaty? I don’t know, it kind of has its appeal.”

“And this is where the beefy jocks all beat Sora to a pulp for being irrepressibly gay,” Riku muttered. He glanced around. “Oh, thank God, they’re gone already.”

Another anxious little laugh from Demyx. “What, is that sort of thing likely to get you massacred around here? I gotta worry about ’phobes, too?”

“Oh, boy,” Riku sighed. He ran a hand through his hair. “No, you don’t, actually. I mean, this is Midgar, not some small-town hick place. But, you know – if you _are_ – I wouldn’t go yelling it from the rooftops. You don’t need to give them a new reason to want to kill you, right?”

“So they’re not ’phobes, but with a tendency to ’phobe out as an excuse?” Sora surmised, one eye squinting sceptically. Then he shrugged. “Well, don’t worry about it, anyway. We’ll take care of you,” he added with a smile. “As long as everyone knows you’ve got people looking out for you, they’ll be less likely to attack.”

“Hopefully,” Riku tacked on, as Demyx straightened, tying the drawstring on the only slightly short pants, “you won’t get attacked at all.”

“That’s the plan,” the blond confirmed feebly.

The second he was done, Sora grabbed his arm. “Come on, Saix’ll be looking for a reason to yell at you and me both, since I complained like I did.” He shot Riku an uncertain look. “There’s no way he doesn’t know it was me.”

“That’s _if_ Ansem took it to him,” the other reasoned calmly, “which I highly doubt. You know how Ansem gets with the faculty – all for one, and one for all. Bullshit at its purest.”

The trio exited the locker room, hurrying through the double-doors into the gymnasium, fortunately, this time, not the last to arrive. They joined the rest of the class on the bleachers, a group of the students shifting deliberately away from Demyx. While Riku shot them a cold look, Sora looking frustrated, Demyx barely even noticed it. After everything he’d endured today, the absolute least of his problems was non-acceptance. He’d come to terms with his chronic unpopularity a _long_ time ago.

Saix stood in the middle of the basketball court, not looking up until the very second his watch ticked to one thirty, busy instead writing something slowly on his clipboard. At his feet sat two lumpy net sacks of volleyballs.

At last, as the final knot of students took their places along the sprawling indoor bleachers, the man checked his watch, and lifted his head. “Today,” he declared, his mellow, slightly husky voice reaching the class easily, “we’ll be playing dodgeball.” He lifted a foot, nudged one of the bags. “We’ll have two sessions of it before the athletics season starts, since it looks like the winter is going to remain dry.” His yellowish eyes swept across them, not touching even momentarily upon Demyx. “All of you. Up. Come and I’ll split you into teams. Except you,” he added, finally focusing on the tattooed blond, who froze in an awkwardly bent position. Before Sora could draw a breath to protest on his behalf, Saix clarified, “Dodgeball is an aggressive sport. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe you’ve been banned from anything aggressive, sports and games included. No physical contact. No projectiles.”

“Aw, come _on!”_ Riku snapped, a hand going to one hip. “A little dodgeball isn’t going to – ”

“No, it’s okay,” Demyx interrupted quietly. When Riku broke off, glaring over at him, he continued, “It’s true. No aggression whatsoever, not even something like dodgeball.”

“Well, then, why can’t we play something less ‘aggressive’?” Sora demanded. Saix’s eyes narrowed coldly.

“Are you, by any chance, trying to tell me how to execute my lessons?” His gaze pierced the three teens. “We have a week until track and field begins. I believe there will be ample opportunity for the mad-worlder to participate in non-violent sports. Until that time, however, we _will_ be playing dodgeball, and you two _will_ get down here and be sorted into teams.” He jabbed a finger at Demyx, the only one not arguing. “And _you_ will remain precisely where you are until ten minutes before the lesson ends. Then you will change, and leave the school at an allowably early time, as directed by Professor Ansem.”

Hesitantly, Demyx lowered back down to the wooden bench, Riku and Sora swapping glances before unhappily descending the steps and joining the rest of the class. Demyx noticed, with a slight tightening in his chest, that the other students shuffled to avoid them, no doubt in his mind that it was because their association with him. It twisted him to see it – after only three days, the pair were alienating themselves unknowingly for his sake.

Damn it. Some people were just too nice for their own good.

The lesson passed at an understandable crawl, Demyx not even bothering to pretend to be reading today, sitting instead with his head supported by bunched fists as he disinterestedly watched the various games take place. He was unsurprised that Saix would choose dodge, of all things, to while away the days before track-and-field began. It was a sly, deliberate jab in his direction. Saix couldn’t warn anyone away from him – but he could isolate him from their midst.

As the time stretched around towards three, it seemed almost as if to slow. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the digital numbers on his phone, thumb brushing the screen absently as he waited, waited for his early release.

At three o’clock precisely, the blond stood, gathered his bag into his arms and quickly made his way down the stairs, heading back the way he’d originally come, entering the echoing chamber of the locker room all by his lonely self. It was a relief to not have to endure this environment tightly packed with testosterone-pumped teens. He got the feeling that, with a little hot blood running through them after sport, the guys from earlier would be less passive in their treatment of him.

Demyx stripped off his pants, folding them up and leaving them for Riku to find when he arrived, then tugged his jeans on and readied himself for the cold outdoors. Pulling in a long, steady breath, Demyx exited the locker room, his sneakers quietly tapping along the brightly-lit hallway, before he pushed through the door into sunshine.

He’d done it. He’d made it through a full day after a flashback crisis. He’d freaked out, he’d sat through numbers, he’d been yelled at and belittled – but he was still walking, still breathing, still thinking. He _had_ survived it, out here without his skin. Now all that remained was to go home, drag it up from the floor in front of the window where he’d left it, and pull it back on to provide a little padding from all the knives pointed his way.

“Demyx!”

He faltered, twisted and looked back with a grimace, wariness falling down his features as Zexion came away from beside the building, where he’d obviously been waiting for the blond to appear. Shoes scraping the ground slowly, Demyx shuffled around to face him, expression grim.

“Don’t you have a class you should be teaching?”

Zexion slowed at his attitude, glancing around with a frown. “Let’s keep going, shall we? I’d rather not be caught up in the rush when the bell goes.”

With little else to do – the educator was going his way, after all – Demyx reluctantly got moving, pulling his bag into his arms, taking a little warmth from its thick fabric. Flicking him a glance, Zexion said mildly, “Try and remember your other clothing tomorrow. Midgar winters are nothing to sneer at, no matter how sunny they may be.”

“You’re preaching to the converted,” the blond said, unable to keep the bite from his words. The man noticed, nodded his acknowledgment.

“I’m sorry, then. I suppose you’d know better than anyone.”

“I know lots of stuff about myself,” Demyx muttered. They walked in silence for several steps, feet crunching over the loose scattering gravel that littered the path.

“There’s a new desk in my classroom,” Zexion announced, after a pause. “So you’re welcome in it again.”

“Until someone graffiti’s it again?” Demyx asked, fighting back the annoyance. “Then what? Gonna do it all over again?” He shook his head helplessly. “You know, it might have missed your attention, but I’m not very well _liked._ You might want it be otherwise, but you should deal with the fact that people – people aren’t going to change any time soon. They’re not going to accept me just because it’s stupid not to.”

“Not stupid,” the man corrected, “just misinformed. Eventually, they _will_ come around, I can promise you that.”

“You can’t,” the blond replied quietly, his blue eyes sliding sideways, meeting those of the man. “You shouldn’t try to feed me falsities.” They sounded like someone else’s words. Demyx was quoting, Zexion’s eyes narrowing at the realisation.

“No room for hope, then?”

Demyx shrugged flatly. “There’s a difference between hope and stupid optimism.” Considering what he’d said, he then lifted his hands, palms out, and hurriedly added, “Not – that I’m calling you an idiot or anything! It’s just… it’s not… worth _discussing.”_

Zexion fixed him with a steady look. “I, on the other hand, think it has a lifetime of worth inside it.”

Squirming uncomfortably, Demyx lifted a hand to scratch anxiously at his neck. “Anyway… I’d – I’d appreciate it if, the next time you go on an… ‘ignorance rage’, you’d just kind of, I don’t know, take a deep breath and – not?” He hesitated, tugging a few long strands of flaxen hair. “I’ve put up with more than a bunch of high-schoolers calling me poisonous.”

Growling, Zexion insisted, “But it’s the _principle_ of the matter – if they believe they can just treat you however they want, they will _worsen,_ Demyx, and that puts you in increasing danger.” He shot an irritated glance over at him, apparently reliving the frustration of not having the blond in agreement on this matter. “I will _not_ have a student of mine being threatened, and the way you’re heading, I can imagine it too clearly becoming a reality that you can’t be protected from.”

“…Yeah,” Demyx agreed softly. “Me, too.” He tipped his chin down a little. “If it happens, it happens, though, right? I have ways of handling it.” He sent a small, jaunty smile sideways. “Auron’s making sure all sorts of things are in place to protect me from physical abuse, okay? I know you’re probably not aware of it, since you’re not involved even if you _are_ freakishly aware, but he _is_ taking care of that side of things… and, like I said, I can take of myself.”

“If you’re attacked?” Zexion demanded, eyebrow arching, swinging his hair out of his face briefly with one hand.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Demyx’s smile faded into a dimmer version of itself, so different from his earlier plastic ones. “I can be a slippery sucker when I need to.” He shrugged. “I’m good at escaping difficult situations.”

The man grimaced, sighed through his nose and muttered reluctantly, “Yes, well, you got to Midgar, didn’t you? I suppose if you survived that, you can survive nearly anything.”

Demyx nodded gently at this, agreed, “Yes.”

They reached the front yard of the school, halfway to the gates, the blond sending his teacher an awkward look. “I guess I can at least thank you for caring about the whole ‘poisoned’ thing,” he said uneasily. “I mean, you might have – um, overreacted a little, in my opinion, but it’s better than a school filled with Saix’s.”

“He was okay today, wasn’t he?” Zexion asked suspiciously. “He’s under strict orders to leave you alone if he hasn’t got anything constructive to say.”

Demyx laughed at this. “‘If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all’?”

Zexion smirked. “Something to that effect.” His expression levelled out as, behind them, the sound of tens of bells ringing en masse pierced the air. With a breath, he glanced over his shoulder at the collection of buildings, before nodding courteously. “I’ll need to be returning for my extracurricular study group.” With seriousness, he added, “Take care on your way home.”

Demyx smiled, waved a couple of fingers and got walking again, leaving the man standing there in the yard. Glancing back from the gates, he was in time to see Zexion’s back disappearing once again into the school, hands in pockets.

Demyx stepped off-campus, back onto Midgar’s streets, the sound of the incessantly hooting traffic enveloping him instantly, Mako’s scent swirling invisibly as it rode the sharp breeze. He traversed the pathways and crosswalks with ease, well accustomed to the circular feel of the sprawling city, almost not noticing the way the pedestrians streamed around him as he headed for home.

For once, as he reached his building, mounted its many stairs and unlocked his apartment, there was no extreme reaction to the day. He wasn’t ready to empty out the bleach like he had been this morning, he wasn’t panicking like he had just yesterday afternoon – today was all its own creation. It had started so _badly…_ The smell of disinfectant lingered powerfully, blasting him the second he entered, comforting despite its reason for being.

Auron had left a note in the now-clean kitchen; evidently, the man had let himself in again while Demyx was gone, and cleared away the items ruined by his earlier tantrum. This was a good sign – it meant he was maybe, probably, over his bad mood from the morning.

Picking up the yellow sheet of paper from the counter, the blond read it out to himself. Auron was going to be over later than usual; he’d suggested Demyx take some time to sleep and recover. Once again, he would bring dinner, but it would be the last time for several nights.

More than happy to adhere to this, feet dragging as he pulled himself through the apartment and into his room, Demyx dropped his bag, kicked off his shoes, and climbed fully-clothed into bed. Falling asleep was all too easy.

Hours later, he was nudged to consciousness in darkness, a weight pressing on the end of the bed beside his legs. For a heart-stopping instant, Demyx wondered if he was dreaming again. Then, as his body stiffened beneath the blankets, Auron asked, “Are you awake?”

The blond slackened with relief. He sucked a hoarse breath, head lifting, croaking, “Yeah. Hi. Hey, Auron.” Grunting, he worked an arm free, clumsily reached for his eyes, scrubbing at them while he yawned.

“How are you feeling?” the man asked, voice a low rumble in the silent room.

Demyx dug his nose into the pillow. “Mmph. Sleepy,” he mumbled, unsticking first one eyelid, then the other, blinking in the gloom. “Hungry,” he added, as it hit him.

With an amused noise, Auron pressed on the edge of the mattress, stood, the bed feeling suddenly lighter. “I got Wutaian food. It’s in the kitchen.”

Stomach growling loudly at the thought, the blond heaving himself up onto his elbows with a groan, head hanging. Illumination pierced the room as Auron opened the door, his broad body momentarily blocking it out as he passed out into the sitting room, where the lights were blazing. Demyx dragged himself heavily from the bed, finding his feet again, scraping the sharp edges of his fingernails across his scalp, a small shiver passing down his spine.

Stretching and straightening, stumbling from the darkness to the light, Demyx entered a universe comprised of smell, the powerful scents of spicy Wutaian sauces and coffee mingling and overlaying the persistent pine aroma. Breathing it in, sighing it out, Demyx shook his head faintly at his earlier behaviour, wearily exasperated with himself. He understood why he’d reacted the way he had; of course he did, he _was_ the one who’d felt it all so acutely only hours earlier – but with the great and futile value of hindsight, he was wishing he’d kept a lid on it. This was what life was like, now. He just needed to get used to that fact.

His first step in the right direction was to shuffle over to the window, the cold seeping through the glass, night pouring through its panes. Resisting the urge to press his face to it, breaths fogging, observing the unique placement of the stars, he instead snapped the blinds shut, feeling a sense of quiet fall through him.

“Demyx, come away from the window.”

The day ended as it began.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I am.” He joined Auron in the kitchen, the man efficiently doling out portions of the fragrant Wutaian dishes. A mug of coffee sat to one side of the counter, Auron pausing to slide it across to him, the spoon in his other hand messy with stray grains of sticky rice.

This time, Demyx felt no resentment in taking the beverage, sipping its darkly milky depths. This morning it had felt like such a band-aid measure. _Drink your coffee and get over it._ Now, however, he was just grateful that – someone existed to try and make the badness go _away,_ with whatever tools were handy.

He gave the man an uncertain smile as he glanced over. “Thanks for this. It’s nice,” he offered. He warmed his cool hands around his mug. Auron nodded shortly in acknowledgement.

“It’s been pointed out to me,” he said levelly, “that I should have known whether or not you were going to have a class ultimately detrimental to your mental health. I apologise.” As Demyx blinked rapidly, he continued, “I’ve been faxed a copy of your class schedule so that, from now on, I’m fully aware of what you’re up to out of my care.”

Demyx considered this, regarded him timidly, asked, “…Did Lucrecia yell at you again?”

Auron snorted slightly, resealing the containers of food and stacking them into two columns, digging forks into their bowls. “Nothing I didn’t return word for word.” He then sighed, turned with both bowls, holding Demyx’s out to him. “This was just another example of ShinRa’s gross miscommunication problems. Sorry that you were caught in the crossfire. Too many of us expect someone else to know what they’re doing, while we just – do our job.” He smiled, clapped the blond gently on the shoulder as he took his food, steering him out to the green sofa. “At any rate, a tutor’s being arranged. I left a message with a friend of mine that works well with numbers, and am waiting for her answer.” As Demyx looked up with dread in his eyes, Auron added, “All going well, we can set up a meeting for Sunday and see how the two of you get on. During school, the receptionist said he’ll take care of you during the periods that used to be taken up with mathematics.”

Sucking anxiously on the prongs of his fork, eyebrows knitted, Demyx nodded. “Sure, Auron. No problem.”

They sat, the blond drawing into the corner, lifting his feet and sitting cross-legged, the bowl held up as he picked through the melange of rice, vegetables and various mixing sauces, steam rising. Auron watched carefully for several minutes. “You seem to be doing well, all considered,”  he steadily observed. Demyx darted him a quick look, shrugging.

“I’m okay. Not bad.” He took a bite of food. “I dealt.”

Auron nodded at this. “That teacher was helpful. He said to ask for him for any issues considering your schooling, rather than going straight to Ansem.”

Demyx stopped, the fork sliding from his mouth. “…Yeah?”

Auron lifted a shoulder, gazing over at the closed window as he ate. “He seems passionate on the subject of mad-worlders. It would seem we have someone in our corner.”

The teen mumbled, “Well, it’s about time, huh?”

“No recurring flashbacks during the day?” Auron asked after several moments, over the clinking of metal to ceramic. Demyx shook his head.

“I was – okay.”

One of Auron’s truly rare genuine smiles hovered into existence. “That’s good, then.”

The pair finished in silence, washing up and ending the evening in their usual calm manner, watching television until Demyx could hold his eyes open no longer. As fascinating as he found the current affairs shows, he was forced to pull himself through the shower and into bed, where, gratefully, he fell into slumber.

.o.O.o.

Eventually, at long last, Friday afternoon rolled around. Thursday had passed without incident, amazingly, making Demyx wonder if there was a sword dangling over his head, its thread preparing to snap. However, despite the impending sense of doom that came from things going right for once, Friday progressed in similar fashion, until the final class of the week was drawing to a close.

Capping his whiteboard marker as the bell shrilled, Zexion called homework above the ruckus that erupted, the students piling out as quickly as possible. Demyx wondered if they were as anxious to put space between themselves and him for the weekend as he was between himself and them. He sat in his chair as they vacated, knee bouncing while he waited with an impatient edge for the last few to leave, letting silence develop in their wake.

“Are you always going to do this?” Zexion asked, replacing his pen with its partners inside a cup, taking up a clapper and starting to wipe the week’s detritus off the board.

“I like to make sure I’m not going to run into any big groups,” Demyx neutrally explained. “I’m not ready to be out with them all, not by myself.”

“We could always get Axel or Sora to pick you up at the end of the day,” the man offered mildly.

The corners of his mouth turning down, Demyx replied, “No. That’s really not necessary. I’ve been helpless already, and it was shit. I’ll just go at my own pace, like my therapist tells me.” He put the faintest stress on the mention of Lucrecia, hoping to remind the man that, for all his knowledge and understanding, he was still an educator of language, and _not_ in charge of the mind or wellbeing of one little mad-worlder.

Zexion just looked at him, that faint undercurrent of frustration in place that had developed the last couple of days. With a gusty sigh, he said in clipped tones, “In that case, you may as well come and help me with this.”

Eyebrows rising, Demyx hesitated, pushed his chair back with his feet, stood and met the man at the whiteboard, Zexion promptly holding out a second clapper. As soon as he’d taken it, the man was straight back to cleaning, stretching and muttering about stepladders as he tried to get the topmost right corner. Demyx slowly joined in, taking the left half of the board, quietly rubbing away Zexion’s writing.

“Nice scarf, by the way,” Zexion dryly muttered, not glancing over. “Another of Sora’s items, I see.”

Demyx paused for a few seconds to look down at the hairy, lime-green creation that the incorrigible kid had bestowed upon him the day before. He had been ambushed at the start of lunch, Sora stalking up to the shivering blond and half choking him with it. As he’d gasped and tried to alleviate the pressure on his throat, heart pulsing fast at being grabbed out of nowhere, the boy had snapped, “We listened to the radio on the way home last night. Did you know that?”

Beside him, Roxas had muttered, “Oh, I’m sure he had a _premonition_ about it, Sora. It’s why he looks so _unsurprised_ to see you right now.”

“The meteorologist,” the brunet slogged on, “said that we’re heading into frost weather. _Frost._ That means _negative temperatures,_ Dem!” Glaring as if the blond’s temperature were his own, Sora demanded, “When the hell are you going to start wearing coats?”

Still untangling himself, the blond had patiently replied, “When ShinRa says it’s okay. But, Sora, that might not be for _years._ There are _so_ many people that would have to finally agree that I’m not a danger…”

Coming back to the moment, Demyx said, “…He has this obsession with my body temperature…”

Zexion snuffed a laugh. “Sora and Roxas are originally from an island world, idyllically tropical. Their parents moved here several years ago, but Sora never did get used to the cold.”

Demyx blinked, stopped, head swinging around, face blank. “They’re from – another world?”

Eyebrow twitching up slightly, Zexion glanced over. “Yes. There are a lot of emigrants to Midgar, and just as many from this world go elsewhere.” With a certain flatness of tone, he said, “Your world was the first of its kind to be discovered along the Gummi routes. Prejudice against those from other worlds isn’t a common thing.”

“No… you’re right. I already knew that,” Demyx answered softly, resuming his erasing efforts. “I suppose it’s so – ‘me against them’ it didn’t occur to me that anyone _else_ is from another world, and that it doesn’t automatically mean… bad things.” He sighed.

Regarding him with a thoughtful, calculating expression, Zexion asked abruptly, “Would you be interested in joining this school’s music classes and band?”

Instantly, without any consideration whatsoever, Demyx replied, “No.”

Surprised by the firm response, Zexion demanded, “Why not? It would look good on your record if you were seen to be actively pursuing social contact and displaying school enthusiasm, not to mention the effect you’d have if you truly do have an aptitude for such a thing.”

Lips pressing together, Demyx shook his head. “You don’t understand. I used to be a musician; I’m not anymore. All the music from my world is dead, and I don’t have an instrument to play even if I wanted to.” He shot the man a stony look. “I don’t have the energy for it, okay? I just – everything right now…” He sighed again, scrubbing hard at the edges of the board, agitation flickering to life. “Everyone around me, they just want me to get the hang of this place, and slide through the cracks without causing any trouble. The best way for that to happen… is to be completely in the background, you know?”

“I understand that you’re surviving,” Zexion agreed quickly, “but there comes a time when you need to start thinking about what’s good for _you._ You obviously _enjoy_ music, considering how far you got with it, right? Or am I incorrect? You said your father wanted you to go to the college – were you against it? Is that why you chose not to?”

Scowling, Demyx muttered, “No. I didn’t go to college, because… I was travelling.” When several long moments passed, he eventually, resignedly added, “But at the same time I _was_ looking for a band to either form or join, so yes, I enjoyed music.” His expression eased into a frown. “But that doesn’t mean a hell of a lot now. Music classes? Band? No one wants me.” He almost kept all the bitterness out of his voice; so very nearly. The scrap that slid through made Zexion’s face soften with a hint of sadness.

“…I apologise,” he said quietly, after a minute of clappers squeaking against an increasingly clean whiteboard. “For everything this world might put you through. I was born here; I feel like they’re all, _we’re_ all, letting you down, Demyx.”

“Forget it,” the blond mumbled, not looking over. “My world started it. If we’re going to get into taking blame on behalf of our worlds, I might as well go kill myself in penance right now.”

Looking alarmed, Zexion reached across, clutched his shoulder. “No! Okay, I take it back, never mind!”

Demyx flicked over a faintly amused look, shrugging the man off and returning his eraser to the desk. “I’m not actually _going_ to. I know I didn’t do anything wrong, and there’s no way I’m gonna pretend I did.” He stepped back to inspect his work, hands on hips. “I don’t have anything to feel guilty about, and I’m not about to start.” He looked over to the door and then back at Zexion, flashing a tight smile. “Thanks for letting me hang around. It’s probably clear enough for me to go home, now.”

He returned to his bag, standing it on the desk and making sure all the buckles and belts were in place as Zexion slowly went to his own desk, leaned the knuckles of one hand against its surface. Watching Demyx with a crease between his brows, he asked, with an attempt at lightly changing the subject from its previous dark place, “What have you got planned for the weekend?”

“Oh, you know,” the blond murmured, tugging one buckle to be sure before hooking the strap over his head, “enough to keep me busy.”

Zexion smiled, nodded, the crease between his eyes yet to smooth. “Well, then, I hope you enjoy yourself. I’ll see you first thing Monday.” As Demyx returned the smile, starting towards the door, he suddenly queried, “Demyx?” Turning slowly, expression watchful, he found the man holding a hand out, arm stiff. “It’s been good meeting you.” Zexion's voice was earnest. “I think this could be a good thing, a positive experience. I’m not feeding you falsities when I tell you that I’m sure things will work out for the better. I honestly believe that.”

Demyx studied the offering for a few moments, before reaching uncertainly towards him. His hand was shaken firmly, Zexion letting him go with a more genuine smile this time. “Be sure to read the English material I gave you. There’s going to be a quiz on Monday, and I’d like you to participate as best as you can.”

Chest swelling with a breath, Demyx nodded distantly. “Right. Homework. Okay. I’m definitely in high-school again, aren’t I?”

One corner of his mouth lifting, Zexion responded wryly, “You most certainly are – I don’t envy you in the slightest.”

Parting on a short laugh, Demyx exited into the hallway, took the steps swiftly, and pushed out into the fresh air. Tomorrow: Lucrecia.

He’d sure as hell have a lot to talk about.

 


	10. Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

Demyx’s alarm went off with a bursting shrill the next morning, sunlight streaming through the blinds, lighting up motes of drifting dust like airborne glitter. Swathed in layers of sweaters, pants, socks and socks and socks, the blond jerked up from the smothering position on his stomach, finding his head covered in thick blankets. As the infernal device beeped incessantly on the nightstand, he fought to free himself from the airless prison his bed had become, emerging with a deep gulp of cold air and fumbling for the clock. After several agitating seconds, the piercing noise died sharply, silence breathing in its wake.

Blue eyes slipping shut, Demyx collapsed back to the pillow, able to _feel_ the bags under his eyes. What he wouldn’t have given for just a few more hours. Or days – days of sleep would have been acceptable.

“Stupid daylight,” the blond groused, rubbing his face with one sock-covered hand, sighing groggily. Auron would be over in an hour, ready to accompany him to see Lucrecia on this typically frosty, sunny day. Groaning in wordless complaint, he rolled over onto one arm, shuffling and kicking his way to the edge of the bed, before sliding gracelessly to the wooden floorboards. They were, he could see, getting a little dusty. He’d need to vacuum when he got home.

Pushing up onto all fours, hands and feet pressing onto the rug, he clambered over towards the doorframe and pulled himself up, inch by inch, until he was hugging the wall. Brow creasing, trying to gather some energy, he pushed away and staggered out into the sitting room, where he then collapsed on the couch to wait for his second wind.

Everything had finally caught up with him. He wanted to melt, sink between the cracks in the floorboards and spend the rest of eternity being stepped over. Then again, he’d also be catching a lifetime of smoke from the bacon the people beneath were always cooking… better to find the apartment above a vegan household, _then_ melt and sink.

Sticking it on the mental to-do list, Demyx struggled up from the couch, stomped slowly into the kitchen, and got the kettle boiling. Pulling out the coffee and sugar, he dumped teaspoons of each into a clean mug, caught the water moments before it boiled, and poured the steaming liquid in to become murky black. Adding milk until it became the colour of mud, he left everything out on the counter and stumbled back to the couch, nursing the hot drink reverently, hissing absently as it sloshed onto one sock, burning a patch of his hand.

Sitting hard, he closed his eyes and pursed his lips, blowing patiently into the cup. Fifty-five minutes til Auron arrived.

With light piercing the room only slightly through the slats of the blinds, the blond sipped gingerly at the caffeinated concoction, savouring the raw heat dropping down into his belly. Lucrecia hovered in his thoughts, his background supporter when he was out in the world, his pillar of determined strength when he was in the hospital, that gut-wrenching, haunting place. If he didn’t know he’d be leaving again at the end of each session, Auron in tow, to catch the bus home, there’d be no way he could voluntarily return. They would have to drag him, kicking and screaming, sedated to within an inch of his life. Or, then again, maybe he’d just go quietly, and pray to whatever the hell kind of deity that might have an ounce of pity that it would be over soon.

Either way, that wasn’t today’s schedule.

Forty-five minutes til Auron arrived. Demyx gulped the last hot mouthful from the bottom of his mug and stood. More awake now, he slid on soft feet back into the kitchen, depositing the dirty cup in the sink, and returned to his bedroom, stumbling over the edge of the rug. Gathering the day’s clothing, including the items Sora had gifted him with, the blond crossed into the bathroom and got a hot shower running. Peeling off his pajamas was a test of will, exposing each inch of his goose-pimply skin to the cruel air. Numb in an instant, shivering violently, he climbed hurriedly into the steam, lost himself under the water.

Less focused on burning the bad away this morning, he washed leisurely, extending his stay in the preciously hot environment for as long as he dared without ending up with Auron pounding on the door shouting that they were late. Shutting it off, though, felt suspiciously like a terrible crime.

Struggling to maintain the beautiful warmth that had taken residence under his skin, he wasted no time in hopping out, drying off, and slipping into his clothing, wrapping the lime-green scarf tightly around his throat. As water trickled under its hairiness, an itch started up, but Demyx ignored it in favour of the insulation it provided. He scrubbed at his hair until it was wild and only slightly damp, before carefully combing it out.

For once, he didn’t bother with his hairstyle, instead just pulling Sora’s bright hat straight over it, knowing there was no way he was taking it off if he could help it. Sora had been right about the negative temperatures. Already, the chill was brutal, and he hadn’t even stepped into the wind.

Auron was coming in twelve minutes. Keeping the socks on his hands until the last second, the blond huffed at the chill and hurried to the kitchen, discovering, with dismay, that all his cereal had been disinfected the day before, and was now no doubt in the communal dumpster behind the building, amongst bacon rinds and rotting orange peelings. Cursing softly, scowling, he went to the fridge, despair turning to delight as he realised Auron had left the Wutaian leftovers behind for him. He inhaled as much of the rich food as he could before he heard those familiarly heavy steps stumping down the hallway, a knock sounding moments later.

Coughing on some sticky rice, Demyx shook the socks off his hands and went to open the door, Auron waiting patiently.

“You ready?” he rumbled, arm tucked into the front of his robe for warmth. Demyx nodded, a slightly anxious grin in place as he performed a quick mental check.

“Sure – wait, I just have to grab my bag.”

“Be quick about it,” the man mumbled. Demyx darted off, hooked his bag up from the floor in his bedroom, making sure his cell phone was in place, then hurried to meet Auron back at the door, the man massaging the bridge of his nose.

“You okay?” he asked curiously. Auron grunted.

“Headache.”

“You know,” Demyx informed him, stepping out into the hall, Auron pulling the door shut behind him so that he could turn and lock it, “coffee makes it all better. The caffeine helps.”

“I don’t drink your coffee if I can help it,” the guardian replied dryly. “Come on.”

Huffing indignantly, not sure whether it was his coffee-making skills or the coffee itself that had been brought into question, Demyx followed him down the stairs, out into the sunlight, the bizarre clash of colour focused around his head and neck combined with the his tattoos attracting endless stares as they headed for the bus station. It was refreshing to be heading in a different direction for once, at a slightly later hour – Dem’s phone told him it was a quarter to nine, the sun just that little bit higher, capable of warming him the slightest amount while he walked. It was a relief to not be going to school for the first time all week – however, considering that it was instead the _hospital_ that was his destination, he wasn’t exactly about to throw a one-person party over the fact.

Heading into the heart of the third plate of Midgar, traffic both human and vehicular thickened steadily. For a while, people stopped noticing Demyx; they were too intent on getting where they needed to be, too focused on ignoring the rest of humanity, and it was here that he felt most at ease. Even though he was more surrounded in the built-up places, it was an anonymous feeling rather than a trapped one, and this in itself was a luxury he rarely got to experience anymore. It was incredible now to think of the days when he had been nobody of note – he almost envied who he used to be, the precious obliviousness he had carried around with him.

The bus station was a little quieter, the peak-hour traffic of businessmen and -women having already come and gone, leaving the run of the place to families, casual workers, tourists, and schoolkids taking advantage of a sunny Saturday. Demyx and Auron found their bus, bought tickets and took a seat halfway down. The blond sat with a heavy exhalation, Auron lowering beside him. “Man, I’m already tired.”

“You need to go to bed sooner each night,” Auron advised. “Start behaving like a high-school student again.”

Gloomily, Demyx said, “I suppose I’ll have to, for the next three months.” Then he shrugged a little as he settled back into his seat and turned his head to gaze out the window. “I guess it’s not all bad, though. At least I have a few friendly people around me now.”

“Friendly people that lend you horrible clothing,” Auron pointed out, a slight smirk in place. “Are you sure he’s being friendly rather than secretly cruel?”

Demyx rolled his eyes. “So maybe the kid’s taste is a little – eccentric,” he admitted. He smiled. “It’s still nice.”

Auron nodded, folded his arms and waited for the bus to get moving. “I know, Dem. I’m glad. It’s good to see you fitting in.”

The pair lapsed into silence as the bus slowly filled, Demyx’s left arm partially obscured by Auron pressed beside him, so that at a cursory glance he was unnoticeable as a mad-worlder. The blond fished a book out of his bag, one that Zexion had lent him for casual reading, a compilation exploring the superstitions of the various worlds and their similarities. It was startling just how many of them were parallel to those he’d heard on his own world. He found the whole thing fascinating, along with the main theory that claimed that, once upon a time, all the worlds had been one, and were separated through some terrible cataclysm or another. While many stories claimed it had to do with something about darkness, the legend that was strong on this world involved a calamitous meteor crashing into the planet. There was a minor religion founded on the theory, worshipping a deity known as Jenova.

Auron, who had been reading over his shoulder, snorted as they got to this bit. “It’s as make-believe as Yevonism.”

“I’ve read about Yevonism,” Demyx murmured, flicking back several chapters in search of it.

Auron grunted firmly, “Leave it where it is. I don’t need to hear about it. I have no interest in religion.” At that point, the bus rumbled into life, the two of them glancing up at the sharp, warning beep of the doors sliding shut. “Put it away now,” Auron commanded quietly. “You’ll get sick if you read while we’re travelling.”

Nodding, Demyx obeyed, pulling his bag firmly into his lap and watching as the world outside the window began gradually slipping past. Before long, they were out on the major roads, the massive vehicle packed with noisy teenagers. It was a thirty minute ride to the hospital, a stop set up several meters from the front entrance. Auron pressed the button to alert the driver as they approached, the little electric bell dinging, and as Demyx stood alongside him, the bus fell silent. However crowded the aisle might still have been, it still managed to quickly clear, the pair having no trouble getting to the open door and out into the fresh air. Shoes slamming to the pavement, the blond took several steps away from the curb, moving to the middle of the quiet, tree-lined sidewalk, turning and waiting for Auron to catch up. The bus pulled away, pale faces staring out through the windows, and disappeared down the road.

This part of the city was relatively deserted. The maximum-security mental hospital was set up seven miles from the regular hospital with its mental ward wing, keeping well away from the ambulance route, maintaining, at all times, as calm an atmosphere as possible. It had terrified Demyx, when he’d first been taken there, just how quiet it sometimes got in that place. The quieter the halls, the more clearly you heard the occasional moans of the imprisoned, along with Hojo’s piercing tones whenever he was making his rounds. For about the first week, Demyx really had believed he was completely and utterly mad. The memories – they weren’t fun.

With the main building looming ahead, they got walking, Demyx fiddling with the strap of his bag while Auron gazed dully ahead. Veering into the entryway of the vast hospital, they passed through the glass doors, into the main reception area, and headed directly for the elevators, the head receptionist staring slackly after the burst of colour that was Demyx. Auron pressed the call button, and as the elevator dinged, its doors sliding apart, Demyx turned to him, adjusting his hat and smiling. “I’ll see you back down here, Auron.”

The tall man nodded briefly, lacking the clearance to enter that section of the hospital, no longer an authorised guest like he had been that night so long ago when he’d first taken the hapless blond home with him. “I’ll be in the area if you need me.” Demyx stepped into the elevator, pressed the button for the third floor, the one with the strongest defences, the most lockdown ability – the core of the maddest of the mad. He turned to see Auron disappear from view, the elevator closing and taking him upward, deeper into the sterilised environment.

Despite her outpatient therapist status as far as Demyx was concerned, Lucrecia still worked exclusively from the heart of the facility, necessitating his continual re-entry into the area of his nightmarish first twenty-eight days in Midgar. The higher he went, the tighter his insides knotted, anxiety blooming anew, just like it always did. His one comfort was that he knew that if they tried to keep him here Auron would be all over it. He _knew_ Demyx was okay – he wouldn’t just stand by and let them swallow him up.

The elevator car stopped, doors parting to reveal the maximum-security reception, so different from the main one on the ground floor. This floor was all about metal bars, unbreakable mesh, electronic locks, alarms and lights capable of hysterically plunging the hospital into chaos. Things eased up so as not to alarm the patients the further in you got, but the entranceway was as cold as the business end of a gun.

The nurses’ station was set up inside a thickly protected room to greet all visitors, all patients, ready to administer injections or brutal force to uncooperative newcomers. There was one nurse in particular who was good at the latter tasks, who they kept at the desk to admit and release patients, with the ability to lock the entire facility down at the push of a button. Demyx recognised him in a heartbeat, as always, and right on cue was intimidated as all hell. The man was quiet, tall and impossibly thin, with long dark hair and hooded eyes that saw _everything._ He was the one that sealed you up; he had the power to release you; up here with Hojo, he was a god.

Timidly, Demyx approached the desk, greeting, “Hey, Vincent…”

The man was typing on his computer, not glancing up. “Here for your appointment?”

The blond nodded. “Just for an hour and a half,” he hastened to clarify.

“As per usual,” Vincent agreed, in his gravelly voice. He stopped, picked up a phone and dialled quickly. “Dr. Crescent, your nine-thirty is here.” Obviously getting the confirmation from the other end, he returned the receiver to its cradle, hit a button on the keyboard and rapidly printed out a nametag for the blond to apply to his shirt. The word ‘guest’ was a beautiful thing, Demyx relishing it with a pounding heart as he fumbled to attach it. Vincent at last looked away from his screen, inspecting the blond’s bizarre fashion sense. “…Well,” he commented dryly, “I can see that exposure to Midgar’s society has driven you mad, just as Hojo suspected it might.”

Demyx blinked rapidly, looked down at himself, then back up with some panic and blurted, “Hey, it was one of _your_ people that gave them to me! Some kid from some island world at the high-school!”

“Joking, Demyx.” A loud buzz vibrated the air, before the door to the ward opened. “Lucrecia’s expecting you. Nero’s out wandering, so don’t dawdle.”

The man’s amber eyes followed Demyx as he hurried for the entrance, entering into white halls and wide, barred windows. With a second buzz, the door slammed shut behind him, trapping him within. Drawing a deep breath, used to it by now, Demyx continued onward, heading through the complex to Lucrecia’s office. He passed a series of metal doors before passing into the patient wing, the doors developing small windows for the physicians and orderlies to peer into. He saw several of the blue-clothed nurses as he went, some of them calling out to him amiably. It was odd that this was the one place on earth he wasn’t treated as a freak; the staff were well aware of his sane status, and had no compunction in stopping him to exchange a few friendly words about his new life on the outside. After all, he’d been reasonably well-liked in this place – he was one of the few inpatients that had never tried to attack anyone, ironically.

He passed Nero on his way, as Vincent had warned, the slender, dark-haired man’s arms caught up in his almost ever-present straitjacket. Beneath the thick cloth, Demyx knew, were hard-muscled, tattooed arms, hands that were capable of crushing a man’s throat. Strapped up, though, Nero was harmless and soft-voiced, if completely unnerving. He paused as the blond tried slipping past, stepping sharply into his path, intent eyes pinning. Demyx drew back uneasily. “Demyx,” the man murmured, elbows shifting slightly within the jacket, “did you know I could swallow you whole?” As Demyx took a breath and circled around him without answering, he continued, “I could send you into darkness. Chaos! Are you immune to my chaos, like Vincent is?” He started to follow the blond, Demyx increasing his pace. “Have you seen my brother?” Nero called after him. “Weiss has been visiting; did you see him, Demyx?”

One of the orderlies came around the corner, ignoring Demyx and sweeping past to Nero, laying a firm hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Nero, let’s take you to the games room.”

“Will you let me play chess?”

“No, but you can watch TV,” came the reasonable reply, their steps heading the other way.

Demyx let out his breath slowly, not quite relaxing until he was out of earshot. Finally arriving at Lucrecia’s office, he knocked anxiously, hoping to be accepted in before anyone else came along. Her clear voice rang out instantly, inviting him in. He pushed open the door, entered swiftly, shutting it firmly again.

Lucrecia’s office was something torn between a sanctuary and an indelible reminder of precisely where he was, causing an eruption of the same confused butterflies that appeared every time he found himself standing before her smile. She stood from her broad desk, her white coat over street clothes, and came around to hug him. “It’s so good to see you, Demyx!” Holding him at arm’s length, she scrutinised his appearance, the blond waiting patiently, resignedly, for the inevitable comment about his clothing additions. At length, instead she said, “You look tired. That’s to be expected, considering the week you’ve had.” She cupped his face. “How are you feeling?”

Demyx blinked, considering. “Not bad?” He sighed. “Not fantastic?” Then he smiled. “Kind of a crappy middle. Things have been bad, and things have been kind of okay at times.”

She nodded, frowning understandingly. “I know you’re unhappy about the arrangement with your education, but it’s vital that we give you a graduation certificate, so that you have the same opportunities as everyone else.” She smiled encouragingly. “And it’s a nice, prestigious school, which will make it count a little better.” Releasing him, she returned to her seat. “Please sit, we’ll get through everything we can before the session is up, alright? I know there’s a lot to cover.” As Demyx obeyed, swinging his bag to the floor, she folded her legs elegantly and leaned forward, elbows on the desk, prompting, “So, I know there are a couple of issues needing addressing, but first of all, tell me how your studies are doing.”

Demyx thought for a moment. “I’m – attending each class? I’ve been given a couple of books to read. And my English teacher is including me in a quiz on Monday.”

Lucrecia blinked, an expectant expression in place that faded slowly as Demyx fell silent. “Yes? And your work, how is that coming along? Your teachers are making sure you’re at the level of your peers, that you understand everything that’s going on?”

The blond felt a prickle in his cheeks, a creeping sense of having missed something potentially important. “I – I don’t… Maybe?”

“You’ve been tested comprehensively for their records, haven’t you?” she asked, beginning to frown. “We haven’t given them any of _our_ information on your abilities; they’re supposed to be testing you independently. That way your grading and progress will be unaffected by the extenuating circumstances you were suffering within the hospital.”

Demyx swallowed, shrugged. “Sorry, Lucrecia, but I don’t think they got the memo on that. I’ve just been sitting through each class, listening. I – I sometimes take notes,” he hurriedly added, as her expression darkened. “And, like I said, I’m reading books – I – I have one right here with me…” He scrambled to pull it out, stopping as she waved a hand sharply.

“Are you telling me,” she surmised, “that in the space of an entire week, you’ve been doing nothing but sitting and _observing?”_

Defensively, the blond replied, “We didn’t know _what_ I was supposed to do! No one told us!”

“‘Us’? Oh, you and Sir Auron, I see.” She sounded unimpressed. “But this is precisely the sort of thing Sir Auron is supposed to be informing you on; he is your mentor, after all. They may be unofficially calling themselves your ‘guardians’, but his duty is more than simply protecting your physical wellbeing, Demyx. Sir Auron should be the one that knows all of this, long before I – I, after all, am only your therapist. I take care of your mind, but I have little involvement in your everyday life. As we’ve discovered, it isn’t until _after_ mistakes have been made that I’m even aware of them.” The woman pursed her lips in thought, one magenta pump rhythmically flipping down and back against her heel as her toes scrunched and extended. “I can see that he and I are going to have to have more phone conferences,” she sighed eventually. “It’s a shame, we really don’t mesh well.” She then smiled. “But that’s up to us to resolve, as one adult to another; it shouldn’t impact upon you, and I’ll make sure that it doesn’t. From now on, together we’ll make sure you’re completely informed, okay?” She reached across the desk, flicked her fingers a little, encouraging him to lift his hands and place them in her own. “Now,” she said softly, “tell me about the bad things. Auron told me about your panic attack on Tuesday morning when we spoke about the blunder with your mathematics class, and the flashback you suffered. Tell me about them, and what happened to you.”

Demyx talked. He told her about each mental hiccup in as much detail as he could muster without plunging back into that time, his descriptions often halting and incomplete. He could feel it crawling at the back of his brain, over but not done with, gone but not forgotten. There was always a risk that thinking about it would bring it all roaring back; it was only here, with her, that he dared to.

Lucrecia listened closely, breaking off one of her hands to start writing things down, but keeping the other knotted in Demyx’s. The blond, she had discovered early on, was a tactile creature. As deprived as he was of contact these days, she always made an effort to give him a physical anchor to the room, which he appreciated. While he held her hand, he could study her several rings, the state of her fingernails – lovely and smooth during positive weeks, bitten when the stress was building up; he could be distracted by the glint of her bracelet or sometimes just be grounded by the warmth of her palm.

He told her as much as he could about the way he had been crushed by his flashback, the panic attack he’d suffered at the nightmare and meat combination, the bullying he’d endured at the hands of Saix, Ansem and Axel, before Zexion had got to him. He recalled for her the feeling of all those eyes, more eyes than he’d ever had focused towards him with such hostility, boring into him so hotly he could just about smell the smoke rising up, and she was concerned. She advised nothing; just waited for it to finish falling from his tongue, letting it all sink in.

At last, when he’d exhausted himself, she smiled and asked, “And what about the good things? You’re looking warmer today than I’ve seen you before.”

Demyx reached up to touch his hat, run his fingers across the soft hairiness of his scarf. “There’s a boy at the school who comes from a hot island world. He doesn’t deal well with the cold, and he hates seeing me shivering. He… brought these for me. And he wishes I could wear jackets and stuff.” He paused, glanced at her uncertainly, trying to gauge her mood. Her nails seemed okay today… “He suggested I buy warm things and slice the left sleeves off. That way, I could get the proper insulation… because… because it _hurts_ sometimes, it gets so cold, and the radiator in my apartment doesn’t even work. Walking to school each day _hurts,_ Lucrecia, and every other time I’m outside. I – I deal, sure, but…”

“But it _hurts,”_ the woman concluded softly. She eyed him closely, playing her thumb absently over his fingertips. “I’ll consider it with Hojo, and Heidegger will have to be consulted, since he’s in charge of your finances. It will require ShinRa spending more money on you… but it really is essential. I can guarantee you that none of those we’re depending on to agree would go out of doors these days without a coat on…” She squeezed his hand. “I’ll see what can be arranged, okay?” She smiled warmly. “I like hearing that there’s someone at that school that worries about you when I’m not around. Is this boy the only one?”

Demyx hesitated. “…No. He has a friend who lent me his gym pants, when we thought I was going to be participating. And he seems nice even without Sora around. And… there’s this teacher, he knows a lot about – well, about _my_ people. He knows that I’m not crazy, and he thinks anyone that _does_ is stupid. He can get a little – worked up on the subject, especially since I won’t get involved, but he’s trying to help. He treats me nicely.”

Her eyebrows rising, Lucrecia said, “I wondered when someone like that would come along. So he’s informed, and kind to go with it? How wonderful for you. Especially as he’s a teacher! What a fantastic combination, Demyx.” Happily, she gathered both his hands up, squeezed them hard, eyes shining. “You see? They exist! Smart, calm people really do exist, and they’re waiting for you! They won’t judge you, and they won’t tell you you’re evil – they’ll see you for who you are. I knew it would come about eventually! Midgar is too open a place not to!”

Demyx ducked his head, hiding the shy smile that emerged at the thought of _ever_ being accepted into this society. Then, feeling the positivity radiating from her, a thought occurred to him. Lifting his gaze slowly, he inspected her bright smile, her eyes crinkled. Taking a breath, he pulled his lips into his mouth for a moment, before saying in a rush, “He also said I should take up music class and join the band. My teacher, Zexion. The – smart, calm one.” At this, Lucrecia faltered, dimmed a little. She was shaking her head even as the blond opened his mouth to argue, “Zexion thinks that people would like me better if I showed them I can play music, he thinks it’d be a good integration tactic, he thinks it would show a – a willingness to involve myself in the school and, and… and he…”

Lucrecia bowed her head, still shaking it, her high, cloth-wrapped ponytail swinging gently. “I’m sorry, Demyx,” she said, softly but decisively. “This man Zexion sounds very interested in your wellbeing, but your assimilation isn’t simply a popularity contest among students.” Her face rose, gaze sympathetic but firm. “ShinRa is funding your current education, and there is no time or need for you to be taking an indulgence class. This has already been discussed; it was predicted that you might ask us this, and I’m sorry, it just can’t happen.” Trying to soften the rejection, she sought his averted gaze with a hopeful smile. “But when you’ve graduated, when you’re more settled and providing your own income, I’m sure there’d be no harm in you taking a class or two elsewhere, right? Just not while you’re studying right now, Demyx. You already have plenty to do, and need to remain focused on that. Okay?”

The blond stared at the corner of the desk for a long moment, saying nothing. Concerned, Lucrecia gave his hands a press. His fingers twitched in resigned response. “Yeah.” His voice, in contrast to his expression, was light, hiding the disappointment that stung bitterly. He hadn’t been planning to ask, hadn’t got his hopes up in the least – and yet that split-second where he’d thought it might be possible had been more, more… more than enough. “Well, you know, that’s part of why I told him ‘no’ when he first suggested it,” he went on. “I just figured I’d run it by you to make sure, just in case, but, you know, my first answer was a total ‘no’.” He smiled, still not looking up. “And anyway, it’s not like I even have an instrument.”

Brow creasing, the woman grimaced, sighed, loosening her grip on him and sitting back again. “…I’ll ask about you wearing thicker clothing, anyway. And really, I’m so pleased you’ve made friends. It’s such a – _positive_ step, Demyx. We’re heading in the right direction.” Folding her hands on her raised knee, she watched him for a long, quiet minute, allowing him to get over the refusal. Then, making sure to keep her voice soft, she said, “Now, I’d like for us to discuss the impact this last week, with all its ups and downs, has had on your regular state of being. Have you felt any guilt this week, Demyx?”

“…Guilt?” Demyx’s gaze skittered to the left. “No.”

“Have you been thinking about your old friends, with the advent of new ones?”

“No.”

“Have you been thinking of your family, then?” she persisted. “Surely in a school situation, you’ll be encountering families, mentions of families, you’ll be seeing students being picked up by parents – the comparison alone between when you last went to school and now would be more than enough to trigger episodes in you; flashbacks, any sudden surge in remembrance…”

“No.” He thought, then amended, “I mean, I had that one flashback, but that was because I stood too long at the window; it took me back to the house I slept in on my way to the border. I get that. It was a visual trigger, right?” He glanced up for confirmation of the term, knowing it to be truth anyway, after all this time. “It was a visual trigger. But I haven’t had any other episodes, and definitely nothing connected with anyone from my old life.” He paused, lowered his gaze, shrugged and asked, “Why would it? I mean – it’s gone. They’re dead. There’s no point playing music when the music is dead.”

“I would take a moment to argue that,” Lucrecia said, an edge entering her tone, replacing an elbow back on the desk as she fixed him with a hard look, “but the fact of it is that music and your old life aren’t one and the same. You can’t compare the loss of the composers you once admired to the loss of your family and friends.”

“But I _told_ you,” he replied, with old frustration, “they’re _dead,_ Lucrecia. And don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I’m not sad about that – but I need to get on with this life, you know? I realise that; they’re all gone.”

Lucrecia’s eyes narrowed, fingers tucking into her palms. “Are they, Demyx? To you, are they _really?_ Because I don’t think you’re grasping this. I _don’t_ think you realise that they’re gone, that your whole _world_ is. And do you know why?” He affixed a deliberately patient expression in place, waiting. She continued, chin rising, “Because it’s too much to take in. The brain can’t wrap around destruction of that magnitude, any more than it can conceive the endlessness of the universe.” She leaned in, holding his gaze firmly. “I’m not saying you’re in denial, because I think it’s obvious you’re not necessarily trying to reject this reality – but I still don’t think you get it. I don’t think you’re comprehending this; I think you’re treating it like something terrible that happened to someone else. In your mind, you know a bad thing happened, and in your heart, you feel a stab – but nothing else is getting through.”

Demyx groaned and sat back, hands flopping. “Well, if it’s so impossible to grasp, why are you acting like I’m sticking my head in the sand just because I don’t myself to sleep at night?”

“Because you _are_ sticking your head in the sand!” she exclaimed. “You’re not _trying_ to understand, Demyx. You’re leaving it in a corner of your brain, and you’ve sealed your heart off from it. Can you really sit there, and, less than three months after you lost everything and everyone you’ve ever known, not break down and need a hug?”

Letting out a bitter laugh, the blond shook his head. “So it _is_ because I’m not crying about it. I wasn’t aware that there was a protocol to follow for this sort of thing. Maybe someone forgot to give me the handbook?” When she scowled, he sighed. “What do you expect me to _do,_ Lucrecia? Jump across the desk and start calling you ‘mommy’?”

The corners of her mouth turned down a little further. “Don’t be smart with me. What I _expect_ from you is something other than this ‘everything’s fine’ mentality you’ve set up. It’s a lot more obvious than you seem to think, you know. You think you can smile and be happy and everyone around you will buy that.” She drew her chair in a little, bending grimly over the desk, eyes clear and determined. “I haven’t bought it from day one, Demyx, and I’m not about to start now. Just because I no longer have permanent access to you doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten you, so stop pretending like I can be fooled.” Demyx refused to meet her gaze, a darkness entering his expression. Silence developed between them, still and deep. At last, she softly commanded, “Tell me about your guilt this week.”

The blond didn’t move for a long minute, sitting as motionless as if he were carved from stone. Then, gradually, his lips parted. “…I lived. And everyone died.” Those same lips formed a smile, sour and wrong on his face. “Every day that I wake up, there are billions of other people that… this time last year… had no idea what was coming.”

“…You took the chance of believing what was widely considered a wild goose chase,” Lucrecia reminded him quietly. “Remember? You survived as long as you did, and then you made it out of there. Those that died are those that chose to stay.” She waited for a while, then said, “But we both already know that. You acknowledged that a while ago, right?” When he grunted assent, she continued, “What I want is for you to tell me what grief and guilt have arisen this last week, surrounding your dead family and old friends. While you were making friends with boys that lend you their clothing, and meeting someone that understands and treats you respectfully out of choice, how did that make you feel?”

For a while, Demyx didn’t know how to answer. “I…” Lucrecia looked at him keenly. “I felt… nothing,” he said, at last. Lucrecia deflated a little, the small motion in the corner of his eye causing the blond to look up slowly. There was disappointment in her eyes.

“Demyx...”

“No, I mean it.” His eyebrows drew together. “I wasn’t thinking about them. How could I feel guilt about it? I’ve already… stopped grieving. There’s no point in thinking about them, so I don’t.”

“No point? Oh, Demyx.” The disappointment was replaced by a deep sadness. “Demyx, _I_ mourn them. I think it’s terrible that everyone you ever loved, the man and woman that raised you, your siblings and peers, every smile you ever received up until a few months ago – all of it is _gone._ And here you are, building it all anew in a relatively hostile environment, and you can tell me with a straight face that you don’t even spare those people a _thought?”_

Dully, the blond responded, “I guess I’m just not that great a person, if you put it that way. I don’t mean to be bad like this, but I can’t help it. I suppose I just – don’t have a whole heap of heart or something.”

“Which is a lie, and we both know it,” the woman murmured, uncapping her pen and beginning to write in her notepad.

“I’m surviving,” Demyx told her. “There’s no room for anything else. No room for falsities.”

“Oh, _stop,”_ she replied, irritably. “I have no interest in that particular notion. Sometimes I wonder what benefit at all Sir Auron is supposed to be having on you.” Pausing in her scribbling, she sent him a firm look. “What I want to know is what happens to your mind when the survival period is over. Remember that little thing? That utopia of existence? The point in time, maybe a month or year or decade from now, when you finally let out the big breath you’ve been holding and realise you’re not afraid anymore? When you _know_ you’ve made it. What happens then, when all the leftover thoughts and emotions come crashing down in response?” Placing the pen down with deliberate patience, she added, not looking at him, “Part of survival is dealing with what you have, Dem. You don’t section things off for when you’re not being distracted by everything else, or you weaken yourself. Now,” she held up a disclaiming hand, “I don’t want to push you, by any means, that’s not what I’m saying – forcing you to think and feel isn’t what I’m here for.” She lifted her eyes to his, their gazes locking. “My position is to advise, right? Well, I’m advising you, Demyx, and I’m also kind of begging you – don’t let these things fall between the cracks for later. Otherwise, the cracks will widen, until all you’re doing is dancing around the gigantic holes in your head.” Her expression was compassionate. “And that’s… when you end up back _here._ For good.” After letting this have its numbing impact, she further implored, “Sir Auron can deny ‘falsities’ all he wants, but don’t you do the same. All you have to do is just take a good, long look at him sometime to know it’s not the answer.”

Several minutes ticked away, during which neither of them spoke. Demyx didn’t fight her on it, but neither did he accept, and there were definitely no requests for hugs. Eventually, Lucrecia sighed, subtly checking her watch. “Well, that’s as far as we’re going to get this time, anyway.” She opened a drawer, pulled out one of her many business cards and wrote on the back of it. “I’m scheduling an appointment for Wednesday afternoon, you can catch the bus from school, okay? At this point in time, I won’t be satisfied with the weekly session, not with an upheaval like this in your life. There are far too many issues this will bring to the surface.” As she picked it up, nails flicking the white surface as she flipped it over to offer to him, she smiled, said, “Besides which, all sorts of things happen in a school environment. I want you having someone to talk to about it all.”

Demyx’s steps as he travelled back through the halls were hollow. Nero was nowhere to be seen this time, no doubt off watching TV or trying to play chess with his teeth or something. Asking about his brother, probably.

There was the usual spike of nervousness as he approached the nurse’s station, Vincent’s small office connecting to it from the other side. The man heard him coming, glanced up, opened the door again for him to exit into reception. “Nametag,” he demanded, Demyx already unpinning in and sliding it back across the counter. “See you next time, Demyx,” Vincent said as farewell, and the blond, abruptly, was as free as a bird.

Heart pounding all over again, he caught the elevator down, Auron waiting for him near the hospital’s front doors. The man followed him out, steps steady, calmly accustomed to Demyx’s flight from the facility.

Once a week, every week, Demyx loved the cold. He loved the cloudless sky, and the sounds of the Midgar traffic drowning out what few birds struggled to make a living; goddamn, he loved the smell of Mako.

“Coffee?” Auron offered, nodding over towards the bus stop. Letting out a sharp puff of steam, Demyx closed his eyes, reached up to adjust his beanie, nodding fervently.

“Dear Lord, please,” he hoarsely said. He wouldn’t be able to relax completely until he was sitting back in the doughnut place near home, sipping at his caffeine of choice and feeling the sunshine once again play across the warning black curves and whorls on his arm.


	11. Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

Demyx was trying to be an insomniac. Nothing would make him happier than seeing the sun’s early glow appearing through the blinds, signalling Sunday’s birth. It was three in the morning as he sipped at his thick mug of coffee and lived out every Saturday’s worn routine.

It was the only day of the week he could actually outlast Auron, probably because it was less about willpower than deep, wearing, bone-aching dread. The guardian had left for his own place hours ago, unwilling to spend yet another Saturday convincing Demyx that he _had_ to sleep, nightmares be damned.

Demyx could only resignedly take this to mean that Auron had never had a half-decent nightmare in his entire life.

The blond sat on the tatty green sofa, leaning hard against the arm, knees drawn up to his chest, nursing his drink. A single light burned, the lamp tucked on the ancient corner table beside the television, illuminating the apartment with its low-wattage bulb. Everywhere the light couldn’t reach, there were shadows.

Demyx stared into space, eyes wide and slow to blink, mind gradually sifting through the overwhelming amount of change between now and this time last week. It boggled his tired mind to think of, and it almost felt strange to have gone an entire day without having Sora’s bright face assaulting him, Riku’s calmer countenance in the background. He supposed, with faint threads of surprise, that this was the biggest difference of all. It was… kind of nice. Made him feel a little more normal, like maybe he really did have a friend out there on this black night… and that he would have someone wanting to see him when he went to the school on Monday morning. Maybe even a _couple_ someones…

Damn it all, tiredness was making him sentimental. Where was self-preserving detachment when you needed it most?

“Such things are only used as a defence mechanism in the first place,” Zexion admonished quietly from the other end of the couch, Demyx’s head swinging around clumsily to stare at him. “There’s only so long you can protect yourself by cutting yourself off, you know. You never _were_ good at emotional self-preservation, Demyx. Your mental methods are patchy at best.”

Demyx breathed slowly. “…Why does my subconscious look like _you?”_

Zexion chose not to answer, his frowning gaze turning to the window across the room, the blinds having stayed undisturbed since Demyx’s mistake earlier in the week. “I hear something.” He got to his feet, crossed to the wall, taking the delicate strand controlling the opening and shutting of the blinds and carefully flipped them open. He looked out at the dark world, letting out an exhalation. “Demyx. Come see,” he urged softly. The blond hesitated.

“I’m not supposed to…”

“But… they’re out there,” the man replied, almost inaudibly, not glancing back. Demyx felt a chill travel through his bones, and, moving like another person was inhabiting his body, rose and shifted to meet Zexion nervously. He didn’t need to ask who was out there. The second he’d heard the word ‘they’, he knew. He just… he knew.

His gaze shivered for a moment on the man’s form, Zexion looking exactly as he had the first day of school, his hair managing to gleam in the low light. The man didn’t even look sideways at him – his entire attention was focused outward, encouraging Demyx to join in, do the same, to look out the window and see them.

It had been… a whole week since he’d seen their faces.

Every Saturday morning, Lucrecia grilled him on his denial, mentioned his family in some way, hoping to bring the grief up to the surface to be wept out and washed away.

Every Saturday night, Demyx dreamed about them.

And every single time, they were dead.

The shock never lessened. His breath hitched in his chest, heart plummeting as he looked out at a completely different world to the one he’d closed his eyes on. The sky had taken on that greenish-black quality that he remembered had existed for a single, terrifying week. With the world gone to hell, somehow everything had started to decay along with it: the human race had lost its mind, the animals were gone, the buildings were crumbling due to the looters with their home-made Molotovs, while the streets became increasingly littered with the dead and eaten. Fires burned in unseen locations, somehow everywhere and nowhere at once, billowing smoke clogging the air, making it hard to breathe without inhaling ash you could only hope was caused by wood, by wood, by wood.

You sure as hell didn’t consider the charred bodies you’d seen along the way, on bonfires that had died out and been abandoned. People had become violently superstitious during these end days. They believed that burning was one of the only ways to make sure the ‘zombies’ were really gone, so that they wouldn’t somehow rise from the dead. Demyx had heard stories about innocent people getting bitten by those broken creatures and being literally burned alive by mobs, in case a corroded spirit was contagious.

This kind of insanity was what convinced him he’d never, ever make it out alive.

Not ever.

Madness was what his world did best.

Outside, it was raining. It slapped in waves against the window pane, Zexion quiet beside him as they gazed down at the wreckage of humanity, Demyx’s family among them. They were bodies on the ground, sometimes burnt, sometimes partially eaten, tonight merely broken.

The rain was steady, constant, dripping and pooling on the road where their corpses lay in amongst a graveyard of others, people Demyx’s mind remembered from his childhood and teens. So many of them he hadn’t seen in years: the girl he’d crushed on in third grade and the boy he’d lusted after in seventh. His first boyfriend was among them, eyes shut, and beside him lay his sister’s boyfriend. She herself was like a snapped rag-doll over by their mother. His dad’s legs were visible from under a pile of other bodies. All the others that were there were lacking faces, identity, their heads fuzzy and indistinct.

The general impression that drifted up, as he stood in his apartment, looking out, was emptiness. Hopelessness. This was the only place Demyx would ever see his family again. He didn’t even have a picture of them, outside of his mind.

Maybe that was why he kept dreaming like he did.

.o.O.o.

Sunday mornings were always heavy with sleep, trying to make up for the extended night. It was the only day of the week that Demyx’s alarm didn’t go off, and it was _blissful._ If Auron came at all, it was for a brief stop-off in the afternoon, but unless something in particular was planned, this was the one day that the blond got entirely to himself.

He liked Auron, naturally, and the man’s presence was reassuring, but this was the one time that he didn’t have a reminder around that he wasn’t just like everybody else. He could pretend he was just – a young guy living on his own in the city. On Sundays, he went grocery shopping, he watched TV and hummed the jingles that stuck in his head from various commercials, and slowly, happily, cleaned the apartment. He was house-bound, except for the permission he had to go to the store whenever he needed to, but it still didn’t mar the little bubble of contentment that the rare free time brought.

Today, he didn’t have as much of that luxury, since Auron would be over at lunchtime to pick him up to meet his math tutor, but he at least got to sleep in. It was a relief to be able to wake naturally, no shrill, nagging alarm clock slicing through his slumber. He went through his regular routine slowly, top-heavy with foggy fatigue, the sleep he had managed to snatch having been restless from all the caffeine he’d first imbibed.

Locating an almost-empty box of cereal in one of the higher cupboards, he took it and a spoon to the couch to crunch down. It was dry, catching in his throat to make him cough weakly from time to time, but food was food. He needed to refresh his stocks, hoping that his leftover amount of gil would cover his needs. He doubted somehow that Heidegger would be willing to give him extra before the payday ShinRa had allocated simply because he’d messed up and drowned everything in disinfectant.

For an hour or so, the cereal box lying discarded on the floor, Demyx napped on the sofa, soft breaths filling the silence, the cold as sharp as ever but staved off somewhat by a blanket folded over the back of the seat for just such an occasion, which Demyx had tugged over himself.

Eventually, he stirred enough to drag himself up and slouch into the bathroom for a shower, which woke him up a little, allowing room for actual alert thought, which he indulged in minimally. Once clean, dry and dressed, Demyx went to the kitchen, made a coffee, and settled back onto the couch with the English book they were being quizzed on tomorrow morning. He hadn’t been studying it for nearly as long as all the others, but if Zexion figured he was okay to participate, he knew that he at least was going to be graded fairly.

It was actually… kind of pleasant to be using his mind again, he had to admit. He’d thought that this whole school experience was going to be one long bore-fest – his fingers weren’t made for _pencils,_ they were made for _strings –_ but after the last couple of stressful months, it was kind of nice to be thinking of something other than the train wreck of his existence. He was discovering new things, interesting things, and the mental stimulation felt _right._ He supposed that previously he’d been so caught up in his music and work that he’d hardly taken the time to read more than a magazine in at least half a year – so this was like stretching an old, disused muscle, and it enjoyed being revived.

At half-past twelve, Auron came knocking. His heavy knuckles rapped politely, as ever, despite the fact that he had a copy of Demyx’s key on him at all times. The blond leapt up to greet him.

“Ready to go?”

Bag already looped over his shoulder where it had been for the past twenty minutes, Demyx nodded nervously, stepped out into the hall, pulling the door shut behind him. Rubbing his hands together, blowing on them as they headed downstairs, he threw a couple of glances Auron’s way. “Is this – do you think I’ll be okay?” he asked anxiously. Auron sent him an understanding look.

“I’ve chosen this woman very specifically, Demyx,” he assured the blond, in his quiet, gruff voice. “I think she’s the best chance you’ve got at learning complex numbers without suffering any mental or emotional distress. It won’t be the same as doing it in school.” He lifted a shoulder as they emerged out onto the street. “If it doesn’t work out, we’ll think some more on how to educate you in that field. You’ve got a damn good excuse for wanting to avoid it, so there’s not a lot ShinRa can do, considering that they’re the cause of it all.”

Uneasily, Demyx nodded, and the two males stepped to the curb, Auron flagging a passing taxi. “It’s on the other side of town,” he told Dem, as one of the vehicles slowed to a halt beside them. “Next time, we’ll take the bus, but I thought that –”

The second the driver caught sight of Demyx’s arm, the cab accelerated sharply away, pulling back out, causing the other traffic to honk angrily. Auron froze, darkness descending over him like a seething cloud, while Demyx lowered his eyes to the pavement.

“…Sorry, Auron.”

The man’s single eye came around, mostly obscured by his sunglasses, but the hardness of it evident. “If you apologise again,” he threatened dully, “you’ll be walking the entire way.”

The blond winced and nodded. “So… I guess we’ll be bussing it this time, after all?” he asked hopelessly.

Auron smiled thinly. “I don’t feel like public transport today.” He waited for another cab to come along, standing with his body partially blocking the view of Demyx, signalling as the car drew near. As it slowed, the same thing happened again, the driver suddenly noticing the brightly-accessorised blond behind him, recognising the tattoos easily, and trying to peel away rapidly.

This time, however, Auron had other ideas.

He stepped out fast, directly into its path, forcing the driver to either mow him down or slam on the brakes. He thudded a hand on the hood loudly as it stopped right in front of him, snapping, “Demyx, into the backseat, before he reverses!” The blond gaped, heard the whine of the engine as the driver slammed the transmission around, and lunged for the door slightly too late. The handle was wrenched from his hand, the door banging on its hinges as the car backed up fast, nearly tugging him off-balance.

By this time, a small percentage of passers-by had stopped to watch the spectacle, openly gasping as, undeterred, ignoring Demyx’s shout of, “Sorry, Auron!” the guardian chased after the taxi like a predator, bent at the waist and slamming his boots straight up the front of the car as he ran onto it. The front of the taxi sank at the sudden weight, the driver yelling and cursing at him, Auron commanding again, _“Now,_ Demyx!”

This time, the blond didn’t hesitate, flinging himself at the momentarily paused vehicle. He heard the gearbox crunch loudly, the entire car shuddering as the driver tried to take off before he had changed gear properly. A moment later, the cab stalled, lurching to a complete stop, Auron weathering the sharp movement with a foot planted on the windshield directly over the driver’s face.

There was a collection of groans and cheers from the onlookers, the screams of the driver highly audible through the open door, directed at a pale-faced Demyx in the backseat. Auron leapt from the hood, boots clapping against the bitumen, stalked around and threw open the driver’s side door. His free hand stabbed in, seizing the man by the shirtfront, and several tense, quiet words later, the fight visibly drained out of the hapless driver.

Straightening, calm now as if nothing had happened, Auron walked around to the open rear door and slid in beside Demyx, pulling it sedately shut after him. “Seventh Heaven, please,” he ordered the trembling driver, who, without another word, restarted the car, put it into gear, and pulled away from the curb.

It took almost the entire journey for Demyx’s heart to stop thumping so hard, hands shaking, eyes wide. As they slowed outside an uninteresting-looking establishment, Auron reached into his robe, pulled out some gil and tossed it into the front. “Much obliged,” he said dryly, before climbing out, holding the door for Dem and swinging it closed as the blond exited onto the pavement.

As soon as he was sure they were both out, the cabbie pulled quickly away, disappearing down the road, accelerating until he was gone from sight, leaving Auron to snort in an unimpressed fashion. “Coward,” was his comment on the entire episode, before turning to the building. “Come on, your new tutor will be waiting.” Then he checked the time, chuckling as he added, “Then again, maybe not. I’ve never been driven downtown that fast in my life; not with the meter running.”

Trailing him, Demyx cautiously ventured, “Is it just me, or was that… not totally necessary?”

Auron grunted. “It was necessary if we were ever going to catch a cab to get here on time.”

Shaking his head, the blond followed his guardian in through the dark entranceway, into the place with the sign saying ‘Seventh Heaven’. “But how am I meant to maintain this – non-threatening air if _you_ go around threatening people _for_ me?”

“Oh, it wasn’t for you,” the man murmured, peering ahead. With a small smirk, he added, “That would be irresponsible of me.”

They entered into, to Demyx’s utmost surprise, a bar. His brows drew together in confusion, eyes rising to the stationery ceiling fans, falling behind as Auron strode through the collection of tables. The sound of clanking crockery and running water came from the far corner of the bar, where a woman with black hair stood washing dishes, glancing up at the sound of their steps. Pausing, surprised, she shut off the water, leaned down for a dishcloth and started wiping her hands. “Sir Auron!” Her dark-eyed gaze slid past him to Demyx, taking on a cautious, calculative cast. “…And guest.” She nodded to the blond, who smiled weakly in return, averting his eyes quickly.

“I’ll just drop him here and come back in an hour,” Auron rumbled, to which the woman inclined her head. He rested his free hand on Dem’s shoulder, steering him to a stool. “Take a seat at the bar. Tifa will take care of you, it’s her establishment.”

Blinking, bewildered, Demyx tossed a glance over at the woman, before asking in a low voice, “You’re – leaving me here? Won’t she…? I mean, don’t you want to stay and make sure I get – tutored properly?” He was apprehensive at being left alone with a lone female. There were too many ways for her to scream if he somehow frightened her. Auron _knew_ he was uncomfortable around women, they _shrieked,_ for God’s sake. It would be too easy to be accused of something he’d never done, with no way of defending himself, and no witnesses to say otherwise.

“It’s okay, I’ll make sure everything goes smoothly,” the woman interjected, her hearing far too good for Demyx’s liking. She smiled at Auron. “You said on the phone earlier that you had some errands to run, right, Sir Auron? Well, just leave Demyx to me.”

Finding himself firmly sat down, Demyx twisted, tried to grab Auron’s sleeve, but the man had already turned and was walking away, saying over his shoulder, “Relax, Demyx, it’ll be fine. Just take it all one step at a time.”

“But – I don’t even know this person! What’s their _name?”_

“Who, mine?” Tifa asked. Demyx shook his head wildly.

“My tutor!” His voice was tight now, panic evident, fear bubbling up at the abandonment. He started to get up, tried to follow after the man, calling desperately, _“Auron?”_

A second later, a cool hand was holding him back, wrapped gently around his forearm. “Just – calm down,” Tifa advised kindly. “Sir Auron will be back in an hour. He can’t watch over you _all_ the time, right?”

“He’s _my_ guardian,” Demyx argued, then snapped his mouth shut, clamping down on every ounce of agitation now that he realised Auron was actually _gone._ They were alone together. He couldn’t display any more of this attitude, or he risked frightening the woman.

Like a wind blowing over desert sand, all expression was swept from his face, becoming, not flat, not emotionless, but dully pleasant in an utterly non-confrontational manner. Tifa blinked at him, as he calmly re-seated himself, pulling his bag up onto his knees and slowly wrapping his arms around it. The only sign that he continued to feel horribly threatened was that he hugged it to his chest, head lowering slightly as he gazed at the shining black surface of the bar and refused to meet the woman’s eyes again.

For a moment, Tifa hesitated. “Her name is Yuffie, you know,” she said at last, going slowly back to the sink and turning the water on. “Your tutor. She shouldn’t be long.”

Demyx nodded after a heartbeat. “…Okay.”

For a while, Tifa continued washing up, placing each item down into an open dishwasher with a low click, the contents sometimes rattling together. She didn’t try to engage Demyx in conversation, simply left him to his own devices, humming under her breath occasionally, tunes the blond didn’t recognise.

Little by little, he relaxed. She obviously wasn’t daunted by his presence; her bearing, when he flicked his eyes occasionally up, was casual, distracted by her task. It appeared that… she didn’t fear him. It was a relief, and pretty close to a first – he couldn’t think of anyone other than maybe Sora or Zexion who hadn’t shown at least a _perfunctory_ suspicion towards him. So it seemed that Auron had known what he was doing, leaving him here with her.

When after twenty minutes the tutor still hadn’t appeared, Demyx, growing bored, quietly drew out his English text and resumed reading from where he’d left off in the apartment. Tifa, done with the dishes now, was moving up and down the bar with a rag and spray bottle, spritzing cleaner onto the surface and rubbing hard. Demyx inhaled the scent, enjoying it, trying automatically to identify the product. When he surreptitiously peered, however, he couldn’t recognise it. He frowned, struggled internally for a moment, then shifted a little, cleared his throat, making her glance up with eyebrows raised, waiting to see if he’d speak.

He almost froze, but managed to nod towards the bottle she was carrying. “I… I like the smell of that one. Does it – is it only a polish, or does it have disinfectant properties as well?”

She paused, lips parting slightly, silence between them as she registered the question with some puzzlement. Before he could duck his head, however, muttering his apologies and sealing up for the rest of the hour, she turned it around, placing it on the counter for him to see the label. “It’s a good brand,” she told him. “It can cost a little extra, but it’s worth it. In my line of work, you just can’t afford to let any bacteria survive.” She smiled. “And the scent is clover. I like it, too – it’s fresh without being overpowering.”

Blue eyes studied the label, memorising its slogans and design, nodding slowly. “I have to go grocery shopping tonight. Maybe I’ll pick up a bottle.” He then sighed, twisting to look back at the doorway. “That is, if my tutor ever shows up.”

Tifa nodded slowly. “Yuffie can be unpredictable, unfortunately. It’s a shame for you. It must be boring just sitting here.” She thought for a moment, then propped her elbows onto the bar in front of him, Demyx leaning back warily, not wanting their personal spaces to mix too closely. “Listen – if that’s the case, can I ask for a favour, at least until she gets here?”

He frowned, suspicion and cautiousness warring with the faintest spark of curiosity. “…What kind of favour?”

Balling up the rag in her hands, she pressed her chin into her knuckles, meeting his gaze directly. “I need you to take a bowl of peanuts, my calculator, and my chequebook, and make sure I balanced the month’s accounts right.” As he blinked, she complained, “I did it this morning, but the numbers just don’t add up. Cloud’s away, Leon won’t be in until tonight, and I can’t exactly ask Sir Auron the minute he walks through the door.” She reached out to him, making him jump, ignoring the reaction to plead, “I know it’s an odd request, I do, but I _really_ need to get it done today, and a second opinion is all I’m asking. The second Yuffie shows up, you can leave it all exactly where it is, I don’t expect you to give up tutoring time to do it or anything – I’d just… I’d _really_ appreciate the help.”

Demyx stared into her wide, earnest eyes with consternation, mouth opening and shutting a couple times. “You want – _me_ to do it?”

She nodded hopefully. “I’ll even get you a free soda?” she said, attempting to sweeten the deal. “Or coffee or tea or anything non-alcoholic?”

The blond wavered, uncertainty still in place, but rapidly weakening. “I don’t… um…”

“ _Please?”_

She looked so needy, it was virtually impossible for him to refuse. And… the more she acted like this, the more he was inclined to agree. She was _begging_ for _his_ help – he was a mad-worlder, and she just didn’t care. That… made him feel like he owed her something.

“…Okay,” he gave in. She beamed at him, patted the counter as she bounced upright.

“I’ll go get everything!” She disappeared into a side room, coming back a minute later toting sheets of paper, a pen, her chequebook, a large calculator and the promised bowl of peanuts. Laying them all out rapidly in front of him, she asked, “Did you want that drink?”

Demyx hesitated, picking up the pen. “Uh – yeah, okay. Coffee? If… if that’s okay with you?”

“You got it.” She twisted away and vanished back into the side room, leaving Demyx feeling somewhat dazed at the sudden bustle of activity, looking down at the pen in his hand as if he suddenly wasn’t quite sure how it had got there.

The first piece of paper he picked up was already covered in scrawls, obviously her own efficient attempt at getting it right. He couldn’t see how he was going to fare any better, but if she was willing to let him try, he’d – do his best?

He could hear the sounds of a percolator in the background, as he rearranged everything to suit himself and started slowly studying her month’s finances. It reminded him, with a stab of confusion and longing, of home – he’d done this a lot over the last couple of years, since he’d first got a job and started paying his own way through life. At least, he distantly supposed, he knew what he was doing.

He cleared his throat, creased his brow, and got to work. Punching out numbers on the calculator, Demyx added and subtracted where necessary, checking Tifa’s list from time to time to see what was tax deductable and what wasn’t. He ended up confused, the coffee cooling at his elbow from where she’d at some point deposited it, but was determined to make some sort of sense out of it all. After a while, he forgot that he was even meant to be waiting for someone.

Auron’s arrival came as a startling revelation that he’d been well and truly stood up as far as the tutor was concerned. The sound of his heavy steps drew Demyx out of his focused state, head coming up, blinking rapidly at the sight of the familiar red robe. “Afternoon, Auron,” Tifa greeted from where she sat with crossed legs on a far stool, reading the newspaper in a patch of sunshine pouring through one of the windows.

“…She didn’t show,” Demyx realised, disheartened. He straightened, placing the pen down and frowning at his calculations. “She knew I was a mad-worlder when she agreed, right?”

Auron asked, “Who?”

Demyx spun around on his barstool, fixing the man with an incredulous look. “Who do you _think?_ Who isn’t _here_ that’s _supposed_ to be?”

Auron gazed around the empty bar. Tifa rustled her paper, licked a thumb, turned the page carefully. “…Cloud?” he hedged.

“He’s not in til tonight,” Tifa corrected from the sunshine. “Leon’s bringing him.”

“Yuffie!” Demyx exclaimed, trying hard to not wave his arms around in frustration.

“Yuffie?” the man echoed, baffled.

“The _tutor,”_ Demyx clarified, wondering where Auron’s sudden denseness had sprung from.

Auron was silent for a moment, then relaxed, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. He looked at Tifa, asking dryly, “Yuffie, huh?”

Tifa sighed, closed her paper, sent Demyx an apologetic grin and said, “Yuffie’s not actually your tutor, Demyx.” She placed the newspaper on the bar, slid from her stool and came over to where the blond had been labouring. _“I’m_ the one Sir Auron contacted to help you out.” She leaned against the counter next to him, Demyx’s features falling into a scowl.

“You _lied_ to me?”

Her eyebrows lifted. “If you’d been told that your prospective new ‘student’ had gone mute for three days after being told to do some sums, would _you_ be eager to introduce yourself as a math tutor?”

Demyx was quiet for a moment, before looking down at all his hard work, the calculator still displaying a half-finished equation. “So all of this…?”

She shrugged. “Sir Auron mentioned you were fine with money. It’s why you’re here, instead of getting a real tutor. When it comes to money, I know my stuff.”

From behind him, Auron said, “I discussed the matter with Lucrecia, and we both agreed that this sort of mathematical stimulation would more than cover your needs.”

Tifa tapped her knuckles on the bar. “You’ll be here every Sunday afternoon before the bar opens. I don’t mind pitching in, you newbies are hard done by enough without suffering further due to ShinRa’s own actions.” She grimaced a little, leaning closer. “They’re putting you through _high school_ again, Demyx – that alone makes me want to wrap you up in cotton wool and never let you leave.” Demyx stared at her, silent for a minute. A flash of uncertainty played across her features. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or agree. “No… at least, I don’t _think_ I am,” he told her, checking his emotions to see if he was, in fact, offended by any of this. The second after he realised he wasn’t, however, he suddenly remembered: _“No._ Not mad at _all._ I don’t… I’m not angry. I have nothing to be angry about. I don’t even _get_ angry,” he lied. Tifa exchanged a look with Auron.

“Okay, then,” she uttered sceptically. “Fair enough. In that case, I have nothing to worry about – no feelings have been hurt.” Sending him a sidelong glance informing him that she wasn’t fooled for even an instant by his act, she straightened, picking up the sheet of calculations and glancing through them. “Well, this all looks pretty right to me,” she said. “I’ll have to compare it with my own later on, though.” She smiled over at Auron. “He’s been working hard, I was impressed.” Shifting her attention to Demyx, she added, “It seems like working with gil is good for you. Next time, I’ll get you to help me figure out the stock-take.”

Squinting first at her, then turning around to do the same to Auron, Demyx ventured, “So… so I don’t actually have to do _number_ numbers? I can just – help out?”

“You’ll be ‘effectively demonstrating your ability to comprehend mathematics’,” Auron intoned, a slight smile in place.

“Don’t get me wrong, though,” Tifa warned, drawing his gaze back, “I’m a businesswoman. If you’re not doing well, I won’t put up with you. This doesn’t mean you get out of doing any work, okay?”

Demyx spluttered for a moment, shook his head, then stopped and nodded. “I – yeah! I promise, I’ll work just like I did today. I mean – if _this_ is all I have to do…” He looked down at the pen, the peanuts, the calculator. “I can manage,” he said, sounding almost startled by the fact. “This is the sort of thing I can do without – freaking.”

“Glad to hear it,” Auron murmured, inclining his head. He clapped Demyx on the shoulder. “Now, we need to get going, there’s a bus coming past in five minutes.” He rested a hand on the counter as the blond, still looking dumbstruck, climbed from the barstool, adjusting his bag. “Thanks, Tifa, we owe you one.”

The woman waved away the sentiment, hands going to her hips. “You know how I feel about this mad-worlder bullshit, Auron – and besides, anything for a friend.”

Happiness swelled in Demyx’s chest at her words – she thought it was _bullshit._ She was like Zexion; she was smart and successful, and wasn’t afraid of him or his kind. She didn’t even _know_ him, there was no obligation for her to be understanding, and yet she wasn’t going to judge him – not even for a second. The sensation was dizzying – his gratitude was intense. As he straightened, he flashed her a bright, genuine smile, the first full-faced one he’d given in a longer time than he could remember. It made his cheeks ache with how broad it was.

Auron stared, while Tifa just grinned in return. “You guys take care, and I’ll see you next weekend, Demyx.”

The two of them exited into the alleyway, the blond just about walking on air. As they headed for the bus stop, Auron shook his head in bemusement. “You’re happier now than I think I’ve ever seen you,” he observed, “and that includes when I bought that giant tin of coffee to get you started in the new apartment.”

Demyx just inhaled, smiled for him, and enjoyed the fact that he was feeling something other than dejection for a while. They caught their connection uptown, switching at the station and riding one of the older models back towards the industrial district. The smell of exhaust was leaking down the aisle, making Demyx feel motion sick – but even this had difficulty suppressing his pleasure in life right now. Auron dropped him back at the apartment with a promise to be back in time for school the next day, and Demyx cleaned for a while. He swept the apartment’s wooden floors, making a point of scribbling down the name of the cleaner Tifa had been using on the bar.

The trick to surviving was to take happiness where you could get it. Shut out what hurt, and hold close what made it better. And when there was nothing _left_ to make things better, absolutely nothing within clutching reach, he had a couple of memories to sink into, a place in his chest that would be untouched by what was messing him up. When the nightmares came – this was what could be used to hold aloft in their darkness. This feeling he had right now, the one he wanted to capture and cage, and hang in the corner of the room and feed and sing songs to in the hopes that it would flourish.

At five p.m., as hunger rose anew after his lunch of peanuts, Demyx gathered up his things, tied his shoes, and headed to go grocery shopping. He exited out into the cold – even colder now, with night falling, what little heat the sun had provided fading into darkness. Burying his chin into his scarf, tugging the hat further down around his ears, Demyx lowered his head and headed to the right, the opposite direction of the school-route. With his right hand in his pocket, the left wrapped around the strap of his bag, he walked down towards the general store, the streetlights blinking to life along the way, powered by Mako. As the wind picked up, like it generally did at twilight, sharp and bitter, he could smell that distantly-used chemical being carried over from the city’s centre, knowing that when he got back the whole apartment would probably be scented with it.

With a small smile, he decided that he could test out the new cleaner to overlay it, filling the rooms instead with a hint of clover. Another good reason for having met Tifa today. He discovered that he was… actually feeling optimistic for once. And he was looking forward to the quiz tomorrow in Zexion’s class; he liked the idea of displaying some smarts, so that the man would know he wasn’t just some pitiful creature to chase after and try to misguidedly protect – Demyx wanted to prove himself as something more.

The store’s lights came into view, bright and warm, attractive in the cold. Goosebumps coating his every inch of exposed flesh, the blond ducked inside, huffing out a breath at the sudden, blissful warmth of the building. From the looks of the pink-faced employees, standing bored at checkouts and meat counters, stocking shelves and checking prices, it was a little more warm than necessary to perhaps work in – but to Demyx, it was an oasis.

He grabbed up a basket, pushed his Sora-given hat a little further up so that his eyes weren’t being obscured, and began the rounds of the aisles. As he went, he did precisely what it was that had convinced Auron that he’d be okay with working with money – keeping in mind the amount of gil he had in his wallet, he subtracted each price as he went, forming a gradually building subtotal rounded out to the nearest gil. Apparently, Auron had been impressed the first time he’d realised that the blond was sensible with cash, and, eventually, it had worked in his favour. Who knew good habits would benefit him in unseen ways like this?

Lighter in step than he had been in weeks, Demyx traversed the store with ease, ignoring the looks he got, as few people as there were – mostly, it was from the shop attendants, but even they seemed to be growing accustomed to the sight of him. He’d found Sunday evenings to be quietest as far as other customers were concerned, and made a point of restocking his supplies at around the same time each week, to prevent as many bad encounters as was possible.

Last week hadn’t been spectacular, but like he’d told Auron – he’d handled it. He could deal with name-calling and hissed curses, even the occasional cautious shove from someone feeling bold, and his guardian knew it; there wasn’t a problem, not a genuine one. And hey, at least _this_ week he wasn’t dreading starting school the next day. If the most of his troubles was a little commonplace prejudice, he could climb into bed tonight a pretty happy guy.

Just as the heat inside the supermarket was starting to get a little stifling, Demyx’s core temperature having adjusted by now, his skin starting to feel prickly around the brow and neck where brightly-coloured wool scratched at him, he finished up, carrying his now-heavy basket to the checkout. His cashier of choice looked less than thrilled to be singled out, but he’d overheard at one point that the Sunday evening staff now got paid time-and-a-half as compensation for his presence. They refused to work for less, not when one of their unlucky number would end up having to actually come in _contact_ with a mad-worlder.

Demyx didn’t really mind. He guessed it was a good thing that at least he was helping them all make a little more money – hey, look at that, he was contributing to society, after all. Take that, ShinRa.

As the last of his groceries were put through, rapidly packed by the bagboy, plastic bags rustling, the blond got out his gil and paid over almost all of it, keeping only a little bit leftover in case of an emergency. Making sure to smile brightly at the two who had served him, Demyx wished them a good night, and exited back out into the cold. The sharp breeze snapped at the plastic bags hooked around his wrists, bumping them against his legs. Letting out a shivery noise, he hunched his shoulders up, starting out across the dim parking lot, intent on getting home before the end of his nose turned numb.

There was a car parked halfway across the lot, dull red, headlights off though music came threading out one open window, a ribbon of cigarette smoke joining it, rising up through the amber illumination of a nearby streetlight. Demyx barely glanced at the vehicle, noticing only that it was occupied, continuing on his way unperturbed.

That was, until all four doors swung open and five men climbed out, each set of eyes trained solely on him.

Realising that he was their target, Demyx was torn between slowing down, vastly intimidated, and speeding up to try to make his way across the parking lot before they could gather themselves into a unit. His hesitation cost him the possible chance of escape – they moved quickly to surround him, the smoker still puffing away at his cigarette, gaze hard through the haze.

Demyx stopped, bags swinging slightly with momentum, heart starting to thunder. He thought of his phone in his pocket, wondered if he could reach for it and call Auron in time, as the blood began to pump faster through his veins.

The men were all young – in their early twenties, perhaps one of them a little older, closer to thirty, and all five wore the same uncompromisingly flat expression. Demyx swallowed, eyes flicking around at the three that stood in his line of vision, before darting away from their accusing glares. “Uh – hi, guys. Nice… nice night, huh?”

The one to his right spat on the ground, a wet, deliberate, dirty gesture of contempt. Demyx swallowed with difficulty, muscles tensing, every cell in his body suddenly attuned to the spaces between them, locating his potential escape routes. The store was at least twenty meters back – within running distance.

The blond cleared his throat and dropped the attempt at civility, saying in a low voice, “Look, I get the feeling that you’re wanting to try something with me, but I really advise against it. I’m under the direct protection of ShinRa, okay? You do anything to me, and they’ll find out about it. There’s really no need for any of this.”

There was a sour laugh from the one directly in front of him. “No need? You think so, psycho-worlder? Can you _really_ stand there, with a straight face, and list off reasons why we shouldn’t pound you into a broken, bloody mess right now?”

“I haven’t done anything to you,” argued Demyx quickly. “Or anyone else, for that matter. I’m just trying to assimilate here, nice and peaceful.”

“Oh, sure,” sneered a new voice, the man that had spat, “nice and peaceful _now –_ but what about before? What about _later?”_

“We’d be doing all the worlds a favour if we sent you to hospital for a nice, long stay,” murmured another, lacking the cockiness of the spitter but instead displaying a far more scary, dark intent. Demyx fought off the urge to shudder, dipping his head, shaking it.

“No, you’re wrong,” he attempted desperately, “there’s no way I’m going to hurt anyone. I never will, and if you do anything to me, _you’re breaking the law._ I told you, I’m under ShinRa’s protection. It’s illegal for anyone under ShinRa to be – _hey!”_ He twisted as one of them lashed out, slamming the bag from his left hand, sending it crashing to the concrete. “Those are my groceries!” the blond exclaimed indignantly.

“ _Were_ your groceries,” the spitter corrected sweetly. “Just like that _was_ your face.”

One of the front three, the right-hand one, lashed out with a shoe and kicked the second bag away, Demyx tightening his grip on the final one, wrapping its handles around his forearm and clutching it to his chest, breathing shortly. Knowing that there’d be no reasoning with this five, he grabbed his only avenue of escape and flung himself forward, aiming for the break between their ranks, caught almost instantly by their hands but struggling hard to keep going, splitting free of one circle of arms only to be snatched by another.

“ _Throw him down!”_

Demyx grunted, reminded himself wildly that there could be no retaliation, no defence, and fell straight to the bitumen, cutting up his elbows, scraping a wrist painfully on the bitumen. He refused to let go of his groceries, however, hugging them tighter than ever, doing as Auron had taught him and balling up, rolling over, tucking his head down towards his chest – just a heartbeat too late.

The kick came out of nowhere, a toe ramming into his face just between the bridge of his nose and the hollow of his eye. He let loose an involuntary cry, rocking back over onto his shoulder-blades, before every instinct leapt into place and slammed him into the safety of a foetal position. More kicks came, some fists, and a snarl of, “Get the bat! It’s on the backseat, _get_ it, God damn it!”

Then, as terror leapt high in Demyx’s throat, eyes snapping shut, one of them hissed, _“Someone’s coming!”_

As a single entity, the men fell away from Demyx’s huddled heap on the ground, turning to face the intruder to their festivities.

“All of you! Get away from that kid, get the hell out!”

“What’s the problem, man?” growled their leader. “We’re just doling out some justice, okay? So why don’t you go back to telling your loser cashiers how to scan barcodes or some shit, and leave us to do what we do best?”

“Not on store property!”

Demyx was hauled to his feet, the sound of shoes scuffing the ground as the group backed up a little. Dazed, nauseous, the blond looked sideways to see the manager of the grocery store holding a broom menacingly in one hand, glaring at him. “That goes for you, too, mad-worlder,” he commanded angrily, giving him a shake. “All of you, get the hell out of here! Take your groceries and _leave,_ or the cops will be called and you’ll all get your asses busted.”

“The only ass,” the spitter declared loudly, “needing busting is the one belonging to your little shit-world friend there, buddy. Leave it to the people that know how to take care of society, okay?”

“I swear to fucking Jenova, if you guys don’t get _out of here,_ you’ll be spending the goddamn night in jail,” the man yelled, fingers tightening on Demyx’s arm, the blond almost in tears at the pain, the chaos, the fear. He was thrown abruptly towards the shadowy edge of the lot, the manager threatening, “Don’t come back at the same fucking time every week, you dense little _shit!_ You’re _asking_ for a beating, and I’m not gonna protect you!”

Seeing it as the only chance he’d get, needing no further urging, Demyx held his last bag of groceries hard against his chest and fled, his satchel thumping against his legs as he ran, frantically trying to reach home before the men returned to their car and came looking for him.

Darkness had fallen completely by the time he scrambled through the door of his apartment building, gasping and wheezing his way up the steps, banging his right shin badly as he slipped at one point, almost falling on top of his shopping bag of oranges. He sprinted along the landing to his apartment, and, lifting one gravel-littered, cut-up wrist to wipe at his hot eyes, he unlocked and fell inside, slamming the door behind him.

His first act, after sliding down the wood, was to take out his phone and call Auron. Then, as the man’s soothing voice drifted into one ear, Demyx lay down on the floor, closed his eyes, and struggled not to cry.


	12. Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“I think… I’ve seen a couple of them before.” Auron grunted his acknowledgement, the blond huskily continuing, “Probably at the store. I don’t know – I never really look too hard at people in case they… you know… _ow.”_

Auron gentled for a moment in apology, cleaning the grazes on Demyx’s forearms. The teen was sitting on the green sofa, clutching a bag of frozen peas against his upper face, one bright eye watching the man work.

“I understand,” Auron said quietly. “I’ll go to the store and speak to the manager. I’ll make him talk.”

Demyx nodded, putting up no argument, Auron carefully dabbing antibacterial on the bloodied sections of his skin.

For both of them, this attack hadn’t come as a huge surprise. It was just words finally beginning to be backed up – people had been threatening Demyx, those that dared to at least, virtually since he’d stepped out of the hospital and into Auron’s care. They had known the day would come when the intent behind the aggression was followed through, and to be honest, it didn’t… it didn’t bother Demyx too badly. He’d been frightened at the time, and was scared that it would happen again – the pain was nothing to laugh at, either – but mentally he was… holding up okay.

This wasn’t a huge bump in the road, and, well… it wasn’t like Demyx hadn’t been beaten up before, on his own world. It happened to guys like him – given the choice between confrontation and meekness, his natural inclination towards timidity would always win out, and there were always times when, as slippery as he’d claimed to be, he didn’t make it out of some situations unscathed.

For now, all he could do was take the store manager’s advice and mix up his routine. It seemed like choosing the quietest hour every week wasn’t going to work out for him, after all. That… was a pity. He didn’t look forward to going when it was busier. He sighed, supposing that it was just another one of those things that couldn’t be avoided. He _was_ meant to be assimilating, after all… he couldn’t just spend the rest of his life hiding… but still – it was worrying.

By the time Auron had finished, Dem’s arms had gone from stinging pain to a fiery burn, throbbing in time with his heartbeat. His face was caught in a perpetual grimace, the man’s eye flicking up, taking note of it, mouth curling down at the edges as he pushed to his feet. “I’ll have to go see the store manager now,” Auron quietly said, “while he’s panicking. Otherwise, he’ll make up some story absolving everyone but you of blame. I’ve spoken to him before – he seems like that type of person.”

Demyx breathed in slowly, the peas bumping and rustling in the bag as he lifted his head, smiling faintly. “Okay. I’ll be all right here. I’ll just make a drink and read my book for a while. I might have a shower soon, but…” He lifted his arms slightly, indicating the painful series of bitumen-born gashes. “I’ll let the antiseptic work first.”

Auron nodded, reluctant to leave but having little choice. “I’ll stop in before I head home,” he promised. “I’ll let you know how it goes.” The blond directed a bland smile his way, nodding distantly.

Auron let himself out. Demyx gingerly entered the kitchen, his back sore from where he’d slammed to the asphalt, forcing him to take each step carefully for now. On the counter, the groceries that had survived the attack sat in their rumpled, twisted plastic bag. After getting the kettle going, the teen unpacked them one by one, moving stiffly.

The oranges had made it, up until he’d fallen on them coming up the stairs. There were a few that had split messily from that. The apples were okay, if a little bruised; the tea-cakes he’d bought for Auron, sugar-diet be damned, had _not_ fared well. It seemed they objected heavily to being crushed against chests and stairs and that sort of thing. They were looking… sad.

He threw them out with a sigh, and stuck the fruit into the refrigerator. The broken oranges were less pretty than their whole-skinned brethren, but they were still edible. Living on a ShinRa pittance, Demyx figured they’d need to be.

He shivered suddenly, the chill of the fridge and frozen peas combining with the pre-existing cold of the night to highlight his meagre clothing. Straightening, he closed the door, went to the bedroom and pulled out one of his sweaters, dragging it on, pushing his hands through the sleeves with the utmost caution, the soft fabric dragging and hooking on loose threads of flesh. Wincing, he pushed the sleeves up to his elbows, freeing his forearms.

Letting out a slow hiss, he returned to the kitchen, waiting for some warmth to gather under the new layer of clothing. Resting the knuckles of his left hand on the counter, supporting his weight against them, he used his right to put together a mug of tea, adding the water and stirring, listening to the click and clack of the spoon against ceramic sides.

He then grabbed up his peas and drink and went to settle on the couch, placing the tea on the floor to one side. Picking up his English book, he flipped the pages apart, pulled his ankles up to cross close to his body, and pressed the trickling bag of peas back against his face. The eye which wasn’t obscured by the makeshift ice pack traced each line of text, lacking focus but pressing on with tired determination. He didn’t want to let this event mess him up for the quiz tomorrow. He was pretty sure Zexion would give him a lot of leeway, but still… he didn’t want to need it too badly. Especially now that Lucrecia wanted some kind of _result_ from this whole ‘education’ thing. Ugh.

His tea disappeared swallow by swallow with the minutes, leaving the blond eventually lying on his back, head perched awkwardly on the sofa’s hard arm, condensation from the peas trickling down one side of his face, making him shiver and shudder as he tried to keep reading.

He had to keep pulling the bag away, using a sleeve to wipe the trickle before it could slide down to his throat. Every time he exposed the swollen knot of flesh on his face, it stang, especially when he was trying to mop up the water. Putting the thawing iciness back on was also its own brand of pain, generally making for a lot of flinching. Each time he had to pause, he lost a little bit more concentration, until he was gazing sightlessly at the words. They might as well have been written in an entirely different language.

His face was throbbing. He’d been lucky in that both the fragile bridge of his nose and socket of his eye had been missed, but it still didn’t make for a fun night – not when the hardest painkillers he could take, without going to see Lucrecia directly, were some goddamn aspirin. He’d have been happy to have something with a little more, for lack of a better term, _kick._

When that particular thought made him smirk a little, lop-sided though it was, he pretty much knew he was going to be okay.

Once he was sure the disinfectant had been given a chance to work its magic, Demyx went and showered, no mean feat when he was trying to keep his arms from getting wet. He stood in an uncomfortably angular pose, elbow bent in front of his chest. He stared at the unmarred inner flesh of his wrists, one pale and smooth, the other sliced with alienating black. He wondered, with a flash of concern, what would happen when the scabs forming over his tattoos healed – would the ink be gone? Had it been scraped off with the skin at those points?

His stomach churned at the thought of having to get those patches redone. He had, since his time spent in the hospital, developed a healthy horror of needles. He didn’t think he could handle being tattooed again. Not unless he was nice and sedated to begin with, at least.

Dressing himself in the kind of fleecy pants he should have been taking to gym class and a fresh sleeveless shirt out of his endless supply of them, he dried his hair off with the towel and wrapped himself carefully in a thick blanket, grazes brushing the material. Now, all he had to do was wait for Auron to return, and he’d be able to go to bed – he really needed to catch up on the hours that had been lost the previous night. Hopefully no nightmares would come this time; he’d kind of had his fill of them.

Returning to the comfort of his now-familiar book, he curled up into the corner of the sofa and resumed from where he’d left off, the blanket forming a soft cocoon around him.

By the time Auron did arrive, Demyx was just about dozing. The words had become a blur across the page, black and white drifting in and out, one overlaying the other. He’d been staring at the word ‘and’ for nearly twenty minutes, blinks growing heavier, breaths thicker. The world had slowed around him, lulling him deeper into fatigue.

Then the knock at the door came, and Demyx jolted awake. He scrambled upright without thinking, scraping his injuries painfully against both the blanket and the coarse fabric of the couch.

Letting out a small grunt of regret, he slowed for a moment to inspect the damage – he was bleeding a little again – then continued on to answer the door, revealing a grim-faced Auron. The man studied him for a moment, the blond leaning against the handle, then held up a box of gauze pads and a roll of off-white bandaging still in its wrapper.

“Got you a present,” Auron said. Demyx smiled weakly, stepping back to allow him in, sliding the bolt lock home as he shut it again. Auron went straight to the couch, sitting and gesturing to the teen.

Demyx went to join him, asking, “What did the manager say?”

Auron opened the box of gauze and starting opening individual pads, lining them up along the bloodied skin of both arms. “The manager doesn’t know the ones that did it by name, but he recognised some faces, like you did.” He grimaced a little, brow hardening. “There’s a chance that perhaps one is the boyfriend of one of the girls working there.”

Demyx’s lips parted, surprise and a little bit of hurt springing up. He’d been nothing but nice to _everyone_ that worked there – he’d understood their discomfort, made himself as unthreatening as he possibly could… and all it had done was give one of them the idea that he was ripe for a beating.

His mouth pressed thin again, fighting off a scowl of disappointment. Auron saw it, nodding faintly in acknowledgment. “He’s promised to keep an eye out for them, but we can’t put much faith in that.” The man tore the plastic off the bandaging and wound it around and around, working his way upward first on one arm, then the other.

Concentrating on keeping his bitterness to a bare minimum, the blond nodded, muttered shortly, “Okay. It’s not a problem.”

Silence grew between them, Auron saying quietly as he pinned the bandage down, “You did well, at any rate. You did exactly as ShinRa expects of you. No one can say you didn’t.”

It was a hollow comfort, but Demyx drew from it. Auron finished up a minute later, his motions efficient as per usual, and the blond held up his encased arms to frown at them.

“You took a shower tonight, right?” Auron asked. Demyx nodded. “In that case, don’t take one in the morning. Leave those on until tomorrow evening, give them a chance to heal.” He pressed down on the blond’s shoulder, pushing himself to his feet. “And now, you need to get to bed. It’s late, and there’s school in the morning. I’ll be here, same time as always.”

Demyx saw the man out, locked up behind him, turning and leaning against the door, surveying the empty apartment wearily. He was stiffening up, the effects of the shower wearing off, leaving the bruises to complain loudly across his body. It just went to show how bad he must have looked that Auron didn’t even mention the fact that he was wearing a sweater. Then again, the man had also bandaged up his left arm, so he supposed the rules just didn’t apply tonight.

Drawing his sleeves carefully down, Demyx shuffled around the apartment, slowly clicking off one light after another, until only the moon was showing through the slats of the blinds. He crossed their pale bars and disappeared into the darkness, climbing carefully into bed and settling down under the blankets. He remained awake until he stopped shivering at the cold; as his muscles calmed, so did the rest of him, and, quietly, he slipped into slumber.

.o.O.o.

The last thing Auron did before they set out the next morning was take Demyx into the bathroom and carefully remove the bandaging encompassing his left forearm and elbow. He inspected the scrapes and scabs closely. “They’re healing fine. You’ll have to go without the coverings for this one, though…” He threw the blond a mildly regretful look. “Your markings can’t be obscured.”

Demyx nodded at this, understanding. “It’s okay. I get it.”

The cuts seemed to sting more in the open air, making him pass his fingertips softly over their surface, wishing they would disappear between now and the time he got to the academy. Having his injuries on display like this felt – daunting. Last night’s beating had felt like the flood-gates being thrown open, and he only hoped that seeing him bruised and cut up like this wouldn’t give everyone else the sudden, sparking idea that they, too, might be able to hurt him.

The walk to the school felt longer than usual, the eyes all around seeming to burn more harshly. It was when they reached the school gates, though, that the heavy blow was inflicted.

Auron was no longer allowed to accompany Demyx into the school grounds.

Upon hearing this, the blond’s eyes widened, anxiety roaring up with a vengeance. “You won’t be attacked between the gate and the office, Demyx,” Auron said quietly. “It’s still early enough for there to not be many students around.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Dem responded tightly, fingers strangling the strap of his bag, pressed hard into his chest. He stared at Auron past the partially obscuring mass of hard, swollen flesh rising from his face, the last of which refused to deflate completely. Even with Sora’s colourful hat pulled low, the green scarf wound high, the radiating dark bruise engulfing his left eye, part of his forehead and half of his nose was all too clearly obvious.

“Then what?” Auron asked simply, meeting his gaze steadily. Demyx’s eyes flicked around the street, over into the schoolyard, helplessness thick. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, agitated.

“I just… I don’t…” He glanced briefly at the man, a pleading element to the look, some part of him silently begging to not have to voice it. Auron withstood it stolidly, refusing to give any ground, and eventually, sucking his lips in to bite at them once, sharply, Demyx almost whispered, voice husky, “I don’t want to be alone, Auron. Please. I don’t…”

“You’ve been alone before,” the guardian pointed out.

“Not walking into this place, though!” Demyx’s brows drew together under the woollen hat, shoulder shifting quickly, a twitch. “I don’t want…”

“You walk home by yourself every day,” Auron frowned.

“That’s just _different,”_ the blond argued beseechingly. “Walking _in_ is…” He didn’t know quite how to put words to the feeling that gripped him when he thought of being abandoned at the gates. Crossing that yard was like heading into a minefield. It was easy to flee a place like that, easy to endure it, even – but walking into it, completely defenceless, was a terrifying thought. Auron was Demyx’s bodyguard. He was the reminder to all who saw him first thing that Demyx was _not_ alone, even when the man was away. The blond hadn’t realised how heavily he depended on this impression until the notion of having it torn away was smacked into his already bruised face.

He’d had nightmares again last night. The fact that he was here at all, ready to face another day, was using up all the bravery he _had._

“I’m sorry,” Auron told him, with no trace of pity in his tone. He was … matter-of-fact. “It’s the way things are.”

Demyx held onto his gaze for a long moment, like a deer pinned by headlights, a lost, small look to him.

Then, refusing to drag the discussion out any further… Auron simply walked away. He was swallowed by the pedestrian traffic, heading in a different direction to the apartment, leaving Dem to face his day.

For a few moments, rooted in place, watching the red robe disappear, Demyx panicked. He stood beaten and alone on the sidewalk, frozen. Behind him, the minefield loomed… but he couldn’t go home. He couldn’t do anything but head straight in.

Feeling suddenly as raw and naked as he had when he’d had the flashback the previous week, Demyx turned to face the grounds, seeing that there were students already present – early bus-riders, sons or daughters of staff members, students doing their homework on the school steps. There weren’t a lot of them – but there were _enough._

And yet, as Auron had so bluntly said, this was the way things were. ShinRa had passed a decree, and the guardian and his charge were little more than pawns leaping to do the bidding of those that controlled their actions. Lucrecia must have approved it, after their meeting on Saturday. She never _had_ liked how heavily Demyx depended on Auron. Obviously, hearing about how the man continually accompanied him into the building had… just not – sat right with her.

So, that crutch was gone. He just had to take it in stride. Had to get over the shock of suddenly being on his own, start moving, and not stop until he was in the familiarity of Axel’s somehow soothing presence.

That thought alone was enough to snap Demyx out of his daze, mentally shaking his head and wondering when the hell _Axel_ had become a comfort. He supposed that when Auron was away, it was the tall, tactless redhead that took his place in the blond’s mind.

…And that was very nearly a frightening idea.

Demyx’s feet started moving, taking him, feeling overly exposed and hatefully vulnerable, across the paving stones. The students’ eyes swung around and found him, as per usual, an element of surprise in them this time as they took in his battered appearance. His arm-sock covered the majority of the damage along his right forearm, but the bandaging peeked out at the elbow, his left was fully exposed, and his face… well, there really was no hiding the damage, one way or another.

He sucked a breath, turned his eyes frontward and kept them there, mounting the stairs, pushing through the glass doors. His steps echoed in the quiet hallway, joining the sounds of muffled voices, lockers banging distantly.

By the time he reached the administration office, pushing open the door and entering the small, quiet atmosphere, it felt like he’d been running the whole way, heart erratic, breaths short. It was only as the back of Axel’s head came into view, bright red spikes bumping through the air, that he started to settle. It was a sign that he was inside a comfort zone – a bubble of safety.

Axel’s voice was already in full stride, as, bending to file some papers in the cabinets behind his chair, he was in the midst of saying, “…she was a pain in the ass, I didn’t think she was going to shut her goddamn mouth. I mean, what’s next? Throwing her panties onstage?”

There was a second man standing at the counter, leaning on it lazily, a hand propping up his head, his finely layered, rose-tinted hair facing Demyx. “Well, I don’t know,” the guy replied idly, “it depends on the _kind_ of underwear as to whether or not it would be welcome.”

The door clicked as Demyx eased it shut, the unfamiliar man glancing over his shoulder. Upon noticing the newcomer, he straightened, stepping sideways from the counter to make room, automatically beginning, “Oh, excuse me, I – _ah.”_ He stopped with a frown upon seeing the blond properly, Demyx resignedly accepting the sudden change in his disposition. Axel looked up, glasses glinting in the overhead light, and a moment later, Demyx briefly forgot his woes and clamped his hands over his mouth, snorting back a desperate laugh.

The redhead’s entire right eyebrow, and about a quarter of the left one, was just _gone._ There was a slight reddening to the area that suggested scorch marks.

As Axel scowled, he choked, parted his fingers and squeaked, “What happened to you?”

The man’s vivid green eyes narrowing, he retorted, “What happened to _you?”_

Demyx’s mirth faded, the smile dying on his lips. His hands lowered down to his sides. He stood in awkward silence for a moment, before saying, “…I got beat up. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big _deal?”_ The direction of the indignant demand was a surprising one, Demyx just about jumping out of his skin as the pink-haired man reached for him. He leapt nimbly out of reach, eyes wide, heart pounding with sudden fear at the sharp motion, accidentally knocking into the wall.

Axel was on his feet a second later, pushing his hands at the man and saying, “Marly, back off for a second, okay?” Looking startled at the reaction he’d received, the guy did as Axel said. The redhead turned to Demyx, hands on hips, and demanded, “What happened? Who did this to you?”

The blond relaxed gradually away from the wall, still feeling the panicked burst of adrenaline that had been thrust into his system. “It’s – it’s okay. I don’t know who. But I told you, it’s no big deal.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Axel agreed, eyes rolling. “Your face looks like someone tried to dropkick it, but it’s nothing.”

Frowning, Demyx argued, “Well – well, it’s _not._ It was going to happen eventually.”

The pink-haired man gave a noise of distress. He commanded Axel, “For God’s sake, introduce me so I can hug him.”

As bewilderment crashed over the blond, Axel threw him a wry look. “Down, boy. Demyx isn’t up for adoption right now.” He returned his attention to Demyx, announcing, “Dem –” That name again, it was spreading. Sora must have been talking about him again. “– this is Marly, my night-job co-worker.”

“Marluxia,” the man corrected, shooting Axel a slight glare, before reaching out and grabbing the blond’s right hand in both of his own warm, slightly calloused ones, shaking enthusiastically. “I’ve heard about you from _everyone,_ Zexion especially was impressed by you –” He paused, eyes rolling up in thought, then tilted his head and amended, “Well, Sora did tend to go on and on, as well, but he’s more astonished by your incredible ability to not freeze to death on a regular basis.” He grinned, two rows of perfectly white teeth glinting out at the blond. “I’ve been feeling deprived as the only one without the pleasure of meeting you, Demyx.”

Demyx blinked. “I… what – _really?”_

Then, as rapidly as if it had been wiped clean, the man’s expression dropped and rearranged, concern shining brightly from his face. “And trust my luck, it’s the one time you’re beaten to a pulp. How can people _treat_ you like this?”

And, as promised, he gathered Demyx up into a hug.

The blond was torn between complete and utter panic, and just the overwhelming quality of his confusion. Luckily, Axel intervened quickly, leaning over the counter and thrusting his hands between them, levering them apart as Demyx started to squirm.

“Marly!” It was halfway between a bark and an attempt at being light. “Ha-ha, leave the kid alone, alright? Your affections can be smothering first thing in the morning, so just – give him some space.”

Demyx was tingling all over, breathing harder than normal, the warmth of the man’s embrace clinging to his skin. Even the press of Axel’s hands against him seemed to linger – his body was suddenly oversensitive. It had been a long time since… since _anyone_ had…

His cheeks burning with a blush, Demyx lowered his face, awkwardly unsure what to do all of a sudden. Axel sent him a weird look, noticing the flush, but wisely chose to make no comment. To his friend, he said, “Marly, hold down the fort for me, will you? I’m going to take Dem to his first class, before too many people arrive.”

“I can see why Zexion was pissed,” the man grumbled, as he and the redhead slipped past each other, Marluxia taking his vacated seat behind the desk. “You’re acting like he’s some kind of ticking _time_ bomb.”

“Not me,” Axel corrected, heading for the door, opening it and ushering Demyx through, the blond obediently hurrying past. “Everyone else.”

“And that’s the _problem!”_ Marluxia called, as the redhead pulled the door shut again. He took a moment to sigh, throwing the blond a look.

“Don’t mind him. He’s – tactile as all hell,” he explained, as they started down the corridor. “And he’s heard stories about you. He’s convinced you’re some kind of misunderstood damsel-in-distress, only, you know, without the damsel part.” He smirked. “And Marly’s always had a flair for the dramatic.” Demyx was silent for a while, Axel peering at him with an uncertain scowl. “You okay in there?”

The teen’s head jerked up suddenly, stirred from his thoughts, shooting the redhead an almost surprised look. “I – yes. Fine… Sorry.”

Gaze narrowing, hands delving into his pockets as they walked, Axel asked, “So where’s your guard dog? I’d have thought he’d be snapping his teeth nonstop with you looking like this.” He lifted a shoulder at the blond, who averted his face again, an automatic attempt to hide his injuries.

“He – Auron’s not allowed…” He cleared his throat, straightening and directing his gaze resolutely forward. “We decided I don’t need a guard dog anymore.”

Surviving eyebrow arching, lips pursing doubtfully, Axel nevertheless nodded. “…If you say so.” As they exited into the courtyard, crossing towards the English block, he added in a murmur, “Zexy is _not_ going to be happy.”

Demyx huffed. “Yeah, well… he’s not responsible for me. His happiness shouldn’t depend on _me.”_

Axel snorted faintly. “Good luck with that.”

Their feet scraping the paving, Demyx tossed over a glance with mounting curiosity. “What _did_ happen to you? Has your boyfriend seen you yet?”

A reluctant chuckle worked its way out of the man’s chest, expression developing a wince. “Ah, yeah, he’s seen me. He was there when it happened; he’s had half the weekend to get used to it.” He lifted a hand, waved a finger vaguely at his brows. “It was… work-related.”

“The night job?” Demyx guessed. “I can’t imagine the Xerox machine going nuts and eliminating your _eye_ brows.” He considered this. “Or, well… I guess it would depend on what you _did_ to the Xerox machine…”

Shaking his head, Axel said, “No, no, night job.” He sent the blond a dry look. “I’ll tell you my juicy details if you tell me yours.”

Demyx smiled slightly, shook his head. “I’m not that interested,” he lied. Axel shrugged, exaggerating his nonchalance.

“Your loss,” he announced lightly, before throwing over a smirk. “It’s a hell of a story, though.”

Demyx laughed a little, the jolt through his body causing a throb in the swelling over his nose. “I’ll bet.”

Axel grimaced and gave up with a slight shrug, sneakers slapping up the English building’s stairs, Demyx only half a pace behind. “Oh, and a heads-up,” the redhead said suddenly, as they approached Zexion’s classroom. “Sora’s giving you a hot water bottle today.”

Demyx stared for a moment as they paused outside the door, before nodding slowly. “…Right. Okay. That – that makes sense.”

Reaching out to flatten the colourful hat against the crown of his head, Axel wished him luck. “You’ll need it,” he added, giving the door a pointed look, before turning and returning down the stairs. Demyx waited until the echo of his steps faded, waited until the lost-soul creak of the building’s door sounded out, followed by the heavy settling as silence fell once again.

He stood in the stillness for several moments, gathering his strength – remembering how a little thing like a word scratched onto his desk had made Zexion freak out so hard just a few days previously – before finally, reluctantly, reaching for the doorknob.

The classroom, Demyx noticed as he cautiously entered, was already set up for the quiz. Zexion had been getting everything ready ahead of time: the desks were spaced more broadly, the floor was utterly spotless, and half the windows had their blinds drawn, creating a cool, library-type environment. Demyx’s desk, though, was right where it always was, directly in front of Zexion’s. The man himself was steadily going up and down the aisles dealing out test papers. He glanced up as the blond dipped his head and made a beeline for his desk.

“Demyx, good morning,” Zexion greeted, voice softened to match the room’s hushed atmosphere.

“Hi!” the boy breathed shortly, gladly turning his back to the man as he sat, clutching his bag tight against his chest.

“Did you have a good weekend?”

“Uh, yeah, great!” Demyx thought fast. “Um, I studied, so – hopefully I’ll do well. I mean, well, I read the book you gave me.”

“That’s good,” the man encouraged quietly, sliding sheets of blank paper under each test for working out. “Generally, students are made to wait outside before a test, and enter with the bell. However, you can be an obvious exception, but you’ll need to keep your hands completely away from your desk, and we probably shouldn’t speak anymore.” Demyx heard the smile in his voice as he added, “We can talk afterwards.”

More than happy to adhere to this, Demyx shut his mouth, hunched over a little further and continued hugging his bag. There was a slight breeze as Zexion swept past him, the faintest scrape from the fabric of his shirt against the blond’s shoulder as he paused to slip the last sheet of paper under his test. Demyx swallowed, willed him to keep walking. He really – _really_ didn’t feel like weathering another ignorance rage right now. Or ever.

Evidently preoccupied with the test, Zexion continued on without comment, the blond not quite letting loose his pent up breath until he then moved over to the whiteboard and started writing down the test’s starting time. The gentle squeak of the marker sounded out as he rapidly listed every ten minutes out, switching to every five towards the end of the class, all to be systematically crossed out as the quiz elapsed.

As he turned away from the board, Demyx’s eyes upon him, he shot the blond a slight smile, hesitating only when the teen ripped his gaze down quickly and jerked his chin towards his chest. Zexion’s smile became quizzical, head tilting slightly to the side, but, remaining true to his earlier statement, he didn’t speak. He went over to his desk, sat down, and started sorting through papers, waiting for the bell to ring.

Gradually, he slowed, gaze becoming distant. Demyx could hear the falter in the rustling. His eyes sliding shut, he hoped like hell the man wasn’t going to make this worse than it already was.

Outside, the noise of gathering students started to build as eight-thirty approached, voices and faint thumps directly beyond the door. Zexion’s voice was as quiet as it had been before, but containing more intensity as he murmured, “Demyx?” The blond kept his face averted, heard the creak of the chair as the man stood, _felt_ him leaning over. “Demyx. Look at me.”

The teen swallowed, eyes darting across the floor. “Shh. No talking,” he hissed. “Test situation.”

“The test hasn’t started.” Zexion’s voice was tightening, volume growing slightly. “Look at me, Demyx. Show me your face.”

The blond’s jaw hardened, a low sigh breaking out of his chest. Figuring there was little point in delaying it any further, he lifted his head, looked the man square in the eyes. Shock stamped itself on Zexion’s face.

“If you make a big deal out of this,” Demyx warned, “I won’t be able to handle it. I’ll walk out. It’s _not a problem.”_

Zexion’s visible eye widened, the other one glimpsed between the curtain of his swinging fringe as he demanded, “Not a _problem?_ You’re looking like that and you can say –?”

“Don’t!” Demyx’s tone was sharp, making the man draw back slightly. From beneath the clashing medley of his scarf and hat, the teen glared out, determined.

Out in the hall, the bell exploded into its piercing ring, the groans of the students audible as they endured the cacophony. A moment later, the door opened, all of them pouring silently in, familiar with their English teacher’s methods during tests. Zexion’s gaze was distracted sideways, viewing them with agitation as they filed into their seats, took out their pens, glancing at their overturned test pages with various levels of apprehension. His eyes returned to Demyx, who hadn’t looked away yet, who insisted, with his gaze, that Zexion keep a lid on it.

Frustration pulsed in the older male, but with a class full of seniors waiting for him to announce the beginning of a quiz, there was no way he could pursue this yet.

Straightening, tearing his gaze from the mottled planes of Demyx’s face, Zexion commanded tersely, “Bags off desks if they’re not already. Please have out everything you need, as you won’t be allowed to touch them again until you have finished your test. You have an hour and a half, I advise you use every minute to your advantage; this quiz is important to your end grade, as are they all.” He paused, drew a breath, indicated the whiteboard behind him. “I’ll be crossing off the time as it passes. Once it reaches the end, any who are still working will have to drop their pens when I say so.” His gaze swept over them. “When you’ve finished, quietly turn your test over, _making sure your name is on the front,_ and leave. The rest of the period is free. Don’t disturb anyone on your way out.”

He crossed his arms, pacing over towards the door, checking the hall for any stragglers. Returning to his desk, he glanced at the clock, at his watch, then threw a sharp look over at Demyx. “All right. I hope you all studied. Good luck… You may begin.”

The sound of papers being turned rustled through the room like a gust of wind, and after that, perfect silence reigned. Pens scratched, pencil leads snapped, sighs could be heard from all corners of the room. Zexion resumed his seat at his desk, but from what Demyx was now hyper aware of, he didn’t seem to be getting a whole heap done. It was that feeling of eyes again… only, different. Zexion wasn’t staring because he hated Demyx… he was just – _staring._ It was unnerving, but considering the lack of ire behind it, the blond found he was able to more or less concentrate despite it.

Finally, after all his reading, he was able to actually use the knowledge he’d absorbed from the book he’d been given. There were still plenty of questions he was incapable of answering, from discussions and lessons prior to his arrival at the school, but what he achieved, he felt reasonably confident about. He just – did his best to block everything out, and tried to make it something that maybe Lucrecia would be happy with.

At length, Demyx reached the end of the test, by far the first one, considering how many questions he’d skipped. He hesitated as he slipped his sheets together and turned them over, nibbling on his lower lip and risking a glance at Zexion’s hair-obscured face. The man was marking papers again, a distracted scowl in place. From what he’d said earlier, he was expecting Demyx to do his usual and stay until the last minute before the next class commenced, but the last thing the blond wanted right now was to be left alone with him. Zexion’s tension was just about distorting the air around him. Demyx felt a fresh burst of helpless irritation – _he’s not responsible for me. His happiness shouldn’t depend on_ me _–_ and bent down for his bag, slipping away his pen, gathering up the strap and standing.

Zexion glanced up quickly, brows drawing together at the sight of the blond preparing to leave. Demyx shot him a swift, tight smile, mouthed, _‘Done’,_ and headed for the door. There was a slight noise as the man started to push his chair back… then a slow creak as he drew it back in. There was, after all, nothing he could do right now. He couldn’t even follow the blond out into the hallway.

Demyx slipped out of the classroom, into the bright light of the hallway, and gently closed the door behind him. He let out a deep breath, relief flowing warmly through his body, before adjusting his hat, his scarf, his bag against his thigh, and turning left. He headed down the stairs, back towards the administration office, more than happy to spend the rest of the English period sitting quietly at the corner of Axel’s desk. If it meant putting off the one confrontation that had the potential to both frighten and anger him, he’d happily sit there for the whole day if necessary. At the moment, Zexion was the last person he wanted to encounter in all the world.

Well… maybe not compared with Hojo. But still.

 


	13. Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

The administration office was a madhouse of activity that made Demyx wonder why the academy, for all its apparent wealth and reputation, didn’t hire a couple more receptionists. The phone was ringing loudly as Axel argued with a man over the high desk, all but one of the orange chairs taken up by either students or adults. The pink-haired, highly affectionate Marluxia was nowhere to be seen.

The man across from Axel was just about yelling, his voice containing a vicious bite, while in the next room over, no doubt capable of hearing every word, Ansem was determinedly remaining behind his closed door. Axel was obviously trying hard to keep his patience while attempting to get the irate visitor to lower the volume, but he was looking like he’d really rather just grab the guy by the lapels and toss him out on his ass. A long-haired woman, obviously next in line, waited impatiently behind him, her sighs loud and abrupt.

Grimacing, Demyx hovered at the doorway, glancing around at the crowd. That phone really had a high-pitched ring; it wasn’t stopping, either, compounding the hot stress that was developing in the room. Deciding to wait until things settled a little, the blond headed over towards the remaining seat, closest to Ansem’s office, keeping his gaze low as he passed into the range of vision of the other occupants. The general murmur of chatter ceased, at the same time that the phone finally stopped, making the shouting man falter briefly, throwing a glance over his shoulder.

Oh, what it was to be the centre of attention.

There was a long, pregnant pause. “Th-that…” The man turned, wide-eyed, back to Axel. “That’s the mad-worlder.”

The redhead looked like he wanted to bury his head in his arms and let out a long bellow of his own. “We prefer,” Axel corrected with a thin smile, “the more politically accurate term ‘new-worlder’.”

Demyx hesitated briefly, before continuing on to the seat. The woman directly beside him leapt up, yanking what looked like a freshman to his feet, a small cry bursting out of her throat. Wildly, she approached the desk, dragging the kid along with her, demanding, “What is that creature doing here!? I can’t send my son to a school that harbours _maniacs!”_

Axel sighed. “Ma’am, with all due respect, if that’s your desire then I advise home-schooling. I challenge you to find a high school in the area that doesn’t harbour maniacs, and that’s just when you’re looking into the staff room, you know?”

With everyone distracted, Demyx’s attention on his feet, the two students that had been sitting tensely quickly stood, made their stiff-legged way to the door, pretty much running as they exited into the hall, Axel’s eyes following them with a dangerous glint.

The real cream on the cake, though, was when the woman that had been waiting behind the shouter suddenly crossed to where Demyx was sitting. He saw her shoes come into view, blinked, lifted his head slowly, to find himself gazing up into her hate-twisted features.

“ _You,”_ she hissed, her voice shaking. “You despicable monster.”

She slapped him.

There was a series of gasps, Axel jumping up from his chair, bursting out, _“Hey!_ Leave the kid alone!”

Demyx’s hands leapt silently up to his face, cupping his nose, where the swelling suddenly raged with pain, a slight exclamation popping from his lips a moment later. It was an almost wondering sound, dismay lacing it softly. The blow she’d dealt had been mostly negated by Sora’s woolly hat, pulled low enough to lessen the impact, but it was enough of a shake to awaken all of last night’s woes.

Axel was at his elbow mere seconds later, a path shoved between those that cluttered the office floor, pulling him up and leading him back over towards the desk, shielding the boy as if any one of them might attack next. “Come on, what’s the matter with you?” he snarled at the woman as she trembled, eyes shining with a thin film of tears, staring at where he’d been sitting. “Don’t you people watch the news? _This kid didn’t do anything to you,_ not to any of you. I’ve been as guilty of the goddamn stereotyping as anyone else, but for God’s sake, keep in mind what they’ve been _telling_ us, okay?” He shoved Demyx down into his chair, which was still warm from having been so recently sat in, making the blond shiver slightly as he came into contact with it.

“How can… Professor Ansem _allow…”_ The first woman who’d spoken was equally shaken by the experience, voice jumping all over the place.

Axel turned to face them all, expression dark. “Okay, look, enough. If you want to discuss the Professor’s decision to allow Demyx into the school, go ahead and make an appointment, I’m sure he’ll be happy to explain it all to you.” Single eyebrow rising, he exclaimed, “Or, better yet, take it up with ShinRa – they’re the ones who got him in here in the first place! _Okay?_ The kid’s harmless. And right now, this office is closed. Please, all of you leave. I’m serious, just go.” He stepped over to where the woman that had slapped Demyx was still standing, touched her elbow, making her jump. “Ma’am,” he said, more quietly. “You need to leave.”

She turned her gaze to him, lips trembling slightly, white around the edges. “My sisters,” she said tightly. “I had… two sisters. They’re dead now. And it’s because of _his –”_

“He’s a victim, too,” Axel cut her off. “Just as much as you are.”

The others in the room watched intently, the air heavy as her expression became incredulous, the tears shifting to her eyelashes as she blinked them away. She leaned a little closer, gaze narrowing. “…Have you lost your mind?” she whispered, disgust and disbelief thickening each word. She turned away from Axel, staring over at the blond sitting pale behind the counter. Her brows drew together. “Your whole world,” she said to him shakily, “and everyone in it.” Her hands clenched by her sides. _“Sick.”_ Before Axel could repeat himself, she left. She strode over to the door, fiercely determined, and wrenched it open. “I’ll be making an appointment with the headmaster,” she promised, before slamming the door behind her. Her heels could be heard clicking rapidly away, and the others drained out in her wake, daunted by the scene they had witnessed, sombre.

Axel let out a hissed breath, hands pushing through his hair, shooting Demyx a worried glance. The blond was… quiet. “Hey… hey, there’s a ‘back in five’ sign under the phone. Could you grab it for me?” the man asked, voice sounding oddly out of place in the hush. Demyx blinked a few times, nodded, silently hunting for the sign. He slid it out and passed it over to Axel, who then went and opened the door a few inches, sticking it on the mottled glass firmly.

He turned to Demyx, leaning back on the door until it clicked shut, and folded his arms, sending the blond a hard look. “…So…” He sighed. “Are you okay?”

Demyx removed his hat, unwound his scarf, rubbing slowly at the prickling skin. He felt hot all of a sudden, cheeks overly warm under the stifling layers of wool. It wasn’t often that he felt a need to cool off… but it usually happened like this when someone had actually been hurt by his existence. Not just angered or offended, but _hurt…_ It made his blood rush sickeningly.

However, Lucrecia had long prepared him for these situations, and he’d encountered it before. He was bound to, from time to time. There were a lot of… damaged people out there.

“I could use some water,” he admitted softly. “I feel a little dizzy.” While Axel hurried to fill one of the small disposable cups at the cooler, Dem dragged his nails through his hair and slowly, absently spiked it up. He drew a few deep breaths, calming his quickened pulse, trying to dispel the nauseous feeling. When Axel deposited the water in front of him, he took it gratefully and started sipping.

Axel drew back, watching him closely. “…I hope she’ll be okay,” Demyx murmured, earning an uncertain look.

“Well, yeah, I guess,” the redhead frowned. “But what about you? I mean, you’ve got enough on your mind without some crazy chick smacking you.”

The teen’s clear blue eyes rose at last, meeting Axel’s gaze with a small, sad, surprisingly understanding smile. “She’s grieving. People… do things, when they’re grieving. And if you lost someone – Roxas, maybe – to some world’s psychotic tendencies, wouldn’t you want to hate me, too? Wouldn’t you want… to hurt me?” He watched the man shift uncomfortably, both of them well aware of the answer. Hell, as far as Demyx knew, Axel hadn’t even lost anyone to his world’s introduction to the world-network thing, and he’d _still_ threatened him. If Roxas had been hurt, he’d have hunted the blond mad-worlder down and gutted him. Or torched him.

A slap, if it made one woman’s pain ease just a little, he could manage. He accepted it.

“Either way,” Axel said gruffly, at last, “you deserve better.” Green eyes rolled. “You weren’t exactly daisy-fresh to begin with. You don’t need _more_ beating up.” He picked up the used cup as it was set down, scrunching it and bending around the desk to drop it into the wastebasket near Demyx’s feet, completely missing the pleasantly surprised look on the blond’s face at having him think he _deserved better._

“You can take the sign off the window now,” he said reassuringly, as Axel straightened and glanced around. “I’m feeling better, and I’m not upset… not for me, at least…”

Hesitantly, Axel nodded. His fingers drummed the high counter quickly, a contemplative scowl going over towards Ansem’s door. Noticing the direction of his gaze, Demyx’s smile turned crooked. “The headmaster’s good at ignoring stuff,” he commented, sounding a little flat.

Axel blinked, returned his gaze to the blond for a blank moment before breaking into a wry grin. “Uh, no, that’s not actually what he does.” He stepped away from the desk, pointing at his ears as he backed towards the door. “He has – earplugs. Like, proper ones. He sticks them in the second things get too busy in here.” He reached for the handle, pulling it open and reaching an arm through, retrieving the sign.

Demyx processed this snippet of information, then let out a slight, barking laugh of wonder. “The mental image!”

Eyes crinkling as his face fell into a smirk, Axel nodded. “They’re yellow, if that helps add to it.” The door clicked shut again, the redhead coming over and pausing halfway around the desk. He looked down at Demyx quizzically. “So, uh – what were you here for, again?”

Demyx’s brows rose up into his hat, the bruise shifting slightly around his eye. “Oh… I finished my English test. Zexion gave an exam, and said we could leave when we were done.”

“Mm-hmm,” Axel hummed, resuming motion, coming around and hooking the short stool out from under the desk with a foot. “In that case, get out of my chair, and remind me some time to get Sora to introduce you to the wonders of the library.” As the blond vacated the revolving seat, Axel sat back down, twisting slightly to peer over his shoulder. “It’s not that I mind you here, but I just don’t think somewhere like this is a great place for you to automatically gravitate the second you’ve got free time, you know? It gets busy, and _loud,_ and the general public is a _pain in the ass,_ and oh, _God,_ I wish I hadn’t burnt down that building.” Glumly, he knocked the computer mouse, the screen lighting up a second later. “You got a book or something? I’ve got announcements to type up.”

Demyx nodded, pulled his bag onto his lap and unclipped it, pulling out the book on the different religions, flipping it open at the bookmark he’d made out of one of his cereal boxes. For a couple of minutes, the sound of Axel’s typing filled the office. Then, he paused, ticked his head an inch to the right and asked, “So… if you left early, he didn’t get to freak out about your face, right?”

Demyx’s gaze rose from the pages of the book, the finger scratching at the spine faltering. “Um… yeah.”

Axel grunted his amusement. “Good instincts you’ve got there.”

From then on, unless the phone rang, there was general silence. No one entered the office, and Professor Ansem didn’t come out at any point. Demyx wondered briefly if maybe he’d fallen asleep in there. He was pretty sure _he_ would, given the opportunity.

Eventually, when the last of the period was blasted apart by the school-wide bells, Demyx tucked away his book and got up to go. Axel threw the clock a distracted glance, a pen clamped between his teeth. “Shit. Do you need me to walk you? You know the way by now, right?”

Demyx hesitated briefly, tempted to say ‘no’, but one look at the mess of papers Axel had spread around the place, and a thought spared for how much he’d already interrupted the man’s routine, changed his mind. “I’ll be okay,” he said brightly, flashing the man a smile filled with false, flimsy confidence. “I can get there.” Axel did a slight double-take, a small crease forming between his brows, but at that point, the phone suddenly started ringing. He flipped up a hand at the blond, who took this as his apology and turned to leave.

As he reached the door, opening it to exit into the hall, the man covered the receiver, calling, “No, Demyx, wait –” The teen just turned, gave another perky smile, waved and closed the door behind him.

The expression fell away the instant he was among the ocean of pushing students, the cacophony of voices and lockers slamming, bodies every which way he tried to move. He struggled to carefully slide through the many split-second gaps, fighting to not touch anyone _anywhere_ with his hands, paranoid about pushing or gripping too hard. His head ached with the mental exertion of it, face gripped in a scowl of concentration.

His dilemma was solved with the first girlish shriek, giving way to a wave of them spreading through the student body as his presence was noticed among them. Like magic, a path was formed, the river of humanity sliding effortlessly apart to create an aisle made for Demyx and Demyx alone.

Very alone.

His breath caught, steps momentarily frozen, wide eyes taking in their fear. Then, blinking rapidly, he lowered his head and walked between the two walls of warmly-dressed teenagers, their silence heavy, thick, crushing.

With the echo of a handprint still faintly felt across his face, he passed through them, and continued on out of the building, heading for his next class.

.o.O.o.

Sora was waiting as Demyx finally emerged from Paine’s history room, five minutes into the lunch break. The kid was back in his puffy jacket, a hat with earflaps this time, the kind of pale blue that matched his eyes.

The second Demyx appeared, Sora pushed away from the wall and started talking. “Hey, Dem, happy hellish Monday. Wait til you hear the story I’ve got about Axel’s eyebrows. You feel up to braving the cafeteria for an oh, my _God,_ what happened to your face?” His eyes strayed downward, widened. “And your arm!” He darted forward, grabbed the blond’s wrist and jerked it up to inspect the many scrapes and scratches, their hard, crusted surfaces still stinging. He then noticed the bandages sticking out from under the black-and-white arm sock, grabbing the other wrist, exclaiming, “And your _other_ arm!”

For ten seconds there was silence, as Demyx let the facts speak for themselves. When Sora’s gaze lifted back up to his, the blond had to blink at the sharp change within them, the coldness – the razor edge that suddenly looked so much like his brother. His voice was quiet, but hard: “Do you know who did it? If you do, you should tell me.”

Demyx almost found himself laughing at the sudden change in the kid’s personality, disbelief welling. It bubbled in his chest, tickled at his throat. He wondered, “Why? What would you do?”

Whatever humour Demyx was battling with simply didn’t exist within Sora right now. He thought for a moment, considering it seriously. He tugged on Demyx’s arm sock to get him moving, the pair of them walking down the corridor. “…Riku,” he said at last, as they descended the stairs. “He has cousins in the army. One’s a general, but I guess we couldn’t depend on him. Too many responsibilities. But there are other ones, ones with fewer… scruples. And they…” He threw a glance sideways at the blond. “They know how to hurt people. Scare ’em.”

Demyx was already shaking his head, a bewildered smile in place. “I don’t know who it was. And even if I did… that really wouldn’t help.”

Gaze narrowing, Sora persisted, “But you _did_ get beaten up, didn’t you? Someone _did_ this to you.”

Demyx grimaced, lifted a shoulder. “I guess. But it’s already been taken care of. My guardian’s looking out for me, remember?”

Sora gave an unimpressed snort. “Oh, sure, he did _real_ good.” They emerged into the courtyard, the cold snapping around them, the kid protected, the blond… less so. It seemed to remind Sora of something. “Hey, by the way!” He swung his bag around, unzipping it and delving in. “I got you something.”

Demyx looked over curiously, an eyebrow arched, only remembering as the boy withdrew his gift the heads-up Axel had given him earlier.

Oh, right.

“A hot water bottle!” Sora brandished the thing happily, all traces of his icy edge for the moment swept away. The rubber bottle was a pale green that reminded the blond of mint, except that people generally didn’t thrust mint in his face, even after a lot of coffee. Sora was beaming at him. “I’ve been trying to think of things that can keep you warm without covering your arm,” he explained. “And this sort of thing would be perfect!” A flicker of worry passed through his expression, the bottle lowering. “You do have like, a kettle or something, right? Or pots for heating water?”

Demyx nodded with a soft chuckle, reaching out and accepting the gift. “I have a kettle. Thanks, Sora.” He held the hot water bottle up and inspected it, smiling at the boy, who looked on expectantly. “You know,” he added, “because of what you said last week, I might even be getting proper clothes. With the left sleeves cut off, of course. I mentioned the idea to my therapist, and she’s going to pass it on to ShinRa.”

Christmas might as well have come early for Sora. His whole face lit up in a beaming grin. “That’s _awesome,”_ he enthused. “You could be _warm_ for once in your life!” As Demyx laughed a little, and admired his latest acquisition, Sora gave him a shrewd once-over, some of the light passing from his features as he again observed the extent of the blond’s injuries. “...Ugh. Let’s leave the cafeteria trip for when you’re less bruised, I think.”

More than happy to comply with this, Demyx followed him to their regular haunt of the bleachers overlooking the running track. By now, word had spread that this was where the mad-worlder sat, making it officially one of the quietest places the school had to offer. That suited him pretty much perfectly; it was the only time of day, other than within his apartment, that the feeling of the eyes slackened off.

Riku and Roxas were already in place, the blond managing to sprawl over two entire benches between his head and elbows, torso, and dangling feet. He had his head against the hard wood of the bench behind him, a book perched over his face in the way of the sun as he read, the other hand wrapped around a half-eaten apple. Riku was eating some kind of rice concoction out of a container from home with a plastic fork, flipping through a biology textbook.

The only difference from every other day, however, was the fact that they were virtually at the bottom of the massive row of staggered, peeling benches, where the cooler air pooled. “What are we doing down here?” Sora complained, two fair heads jerking up at his voice piercing the quiet air. “The middle’s where all the best sun hits.”

Roxas’ head dropped back down with disinterest, the book returning to shield from the light. “Some asshole carved that ‘poisoned’ thing in our regular spot,” he lazily explained, shoulders shifting to get more comfortable. “So we moved in case the dipshit germs got on us.”

“Don’t let Zexion see, whatever you do,” Riku drawled, “he’ll pull up the whole bleachers and send Dem inside until they’re replaced.”

Roxas laughed as he bit into his apple, while dismay spread visibly across Sora’s features, Demyx cracking a resigned smile. “Don’t joke,” he warned, “he probably would.”

“See, that’s what makes it funny,” Roxas explained, tilting the book aside to squint at him through the light. He faltered slightly at the sight of the blond’s injuries illuminated brightly by the day. “…So, someone got to you, I see,” he remarked with a hint of terseness. “It’s to be expected, I suppose,” he added, as Riku glanced up curiously, eyes widening a moment later.

“Huh.”

“Yeah.” Sora’s expression was tight. “‘Huh’.” He turned to Demyx, frustrated. “I can’t believe you have to put up with this ‘poisoned’ shit on top of everything else. Do you want me to report it to Professor Ansem? Screw it, I’m reporting it to Ansem.”

“ _No,_ Sora,” Roxas said loudly, at the same time that Riku protested, “Sora, you can’t.”

“ _Why?”_ the kid demanded, arms crossing defiantly across his chest.

“Because I don’t want you to,” Demyx interjected quietly, drawing the trio’s gazes. “I don’t want fuss on my behalf. I just want to slide through all this like ShinRa needs me to, and someone scratching words in places I go isn’t going to trip me up.”

“…What he said,” Roxas agreed after a moment, nodding and waving a dismissive hand. “Just leave him alone, Sora. If he needs our help, he can ask for it.” Sora struggled internally for a moment, shoulders sagging in the end, face drawn into a scowl as he trudged over towards them. He dragged his hat off, wild brown spikes springing in every direction, Roxas snorting, “Hat hair.”

“Screw off.” Bad-temperedly, the boy sat heavily next to Riku, between the two of them. Demyx shifted his weight from one foot to the other, adjusting the hot water bottle in his hands, Riku’s gaze catching on the flash of green and smirking.

“Oh, you got your present,” he observed. “Sora’s shifting his thinking to when he can’t see you. He gets cold at night.”

“Sit _down,_ Demyx,” Sora commanded grumpily. “The bench isn’t going to grow graffiti just from you touching it.”

Demyx smiled. “I wouldn’t mind even if it did.”

“Yeah, it’s just a fucking word, Sora, get over it,” Roxas advised, the book back over his face. Demyx swung his bag down, placed his new hot water bottle gently against it, and sat on the bottom bench, Riku’s feet near his head, Roxas’ sneakers hanging down a couple meters away.

Sora was glaring at his brother. “It’s the _principle_ of it, Roxas. Have you ever heard of that little idea? The notion of having _principles?”_

“I maintained my principles by nobly not dumping my boyfriend and his half an eyebrow simply because he’s no longer as attractive anymore,” Roxas informed him through a mouthful of apple. Riku couldn’t help but nod.

“He’s got you there. Axel looks like some freaky kind of leprechaun now.” He flashed Sora a sympathetic smile as the boy scowled at him. Sora dragged his fingers through his hair, separating the spikes before jamming his hat back over them.

“Fine, take his side, I don’t care,” he muttered.

Demyx suppressed a smile as he leaned back, tilting his face up towards the sun and closing his eyes. The others had stopped asking him if he needed food at lunchtime – the truth of it was, Dem’s stomach still knotted itself up too tight to be able to stomach proper foods, and the idea of having Saix straight after didn’t help matters in the least. He was just generally a lot happier if there was nothing inside him to gurgle and curdle the second his nerves got the better of him.

For a while after Sora’s outburst, there was quiet. Roxas continued to read his book, steadily polishing off the rest of his apple, while Sora automatically started sharing Riku’s food, the pair of them going slowly through the biology textbook and mumbling to each other. Demyx settled comfortably, feeling the bleachers’ hard edges, the scratch of the wood, the sun shining down. The fingers of his right hand played softly over the bumps and cuts of his left, sweeping the lines of his tattoo by memory, wondering distantly how something he couldn’t even feel could affect his life so violently.

There was a shift from Riku, his shoe scraping slightly in the narrow strip of grass. “Speak of the devil,” he muttered. Then, raising his voice slightly, “Look alive, Dem, Zexion’s here to drive you indoors.”

Demyx snorted, eyes remaining shut. “Hardy-ha, Riku. Not falling for it. I’m comfy, leave me alone.”

“No, seriously – Dem?” Sora started. Then he fell silent. The blond frowned, cracked an eyelid, heard Roxas bite loudly into his apple. A shadow fell across Demyx’s legs. He opened his eyes properly, and found himself looking directly up at Zexion, the man’s arms crossed over his chest.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” His voice was soft, and though he addressed them at large, his gaze remained fixed unswervingly on Demyx.

“Zexy, fine day for an ignorance rage, wouldn’t you agree?” Roxas asked, turning a page in his book, not glancing over. The man sent him a narrow look he didn’t see, momentarily distracted from Demyx, the blond just about sighing in relief. It was short-lived – that blue, almost purple, eye returned to him, the other obscured by the curtain of his hair.

“I’d like a word, please.”

Sora pushed Riku’s textbook down sharply, demanding, “Zexion, what the hell? We’ve got Saix in like – ten minutes. You can’t take him away _now!”_ His lips thinned out stubbornly. “Saix already has it in for him, you _know_ that.”

The man drew a patient breath. “If Demyx is late, I’ll make sure he’s excused.”

Sounding doubtful, the kid started, “Zexion…”

“I’ve spoken with your guardian,” Zexion interrupted bluntly, gaze switching back down to the blond. It was like having a bucket of cold water tossed over his face – Demyx blinked, fears suddenly dispelling in favour of confusion.

Hesitantly, he sat straighter, adjusting his hat. “…Auron?”

“He told me what happened. Can we talk?”

Demyx glanced uncertainly over his shoulder, Sora looking displeased. “If he gets in trouble because of you, Zexion…”

The man huffed with irritation, hands dropping to his sides. “I _do_ have some authority at this school, remember. I _have_ the ability to keep one student from being crucified.”

An eyebrow rising, Sora returned sceptically, “Even Demyx?”

Slowly gathering his things, Demyx said, “It’s okay, Sora.” He paused to send a lopsided smile back at the kid. “Even if I doget in trouble with Saix, it’ll only be because he’s looking for a reason anyway.”

“That’s my whole point!” Sora cried. Zexion sighed, reached out and hooked a hand around Demyx’s elbow, encouraging him into a quick walk.

“Your faith in me is positively touching,” he said witheringly over his shoulder, to which Sora tossed back a middle finger that Zexion pointedly ignored.

As the bleachers dwindled behind them, the grass crushing beneath their feet, Demyx quietly apologised, “Sorry about them. They, uh…”

“They’re looking out for you,” Zexion said, excusing them shortly. “I understand that. You’ve been on a lot of minds lately.”

Not sure exactly what he meant by this, Demyx tugged back on his grip, slowing their swift pace a little. Scratching the back of his neck where the wool of Sora’s hat was starting to irritate, he sent Zexion a slightly worried look. “So – you said you spoke to Auron? Um… what exactly did you _say_ to him? Because I’m, I’m doing fine, I really don’t… want him thinking that I’m not.”

Zexion shook his head briefly, hand at last dropping from the teen’s arm as they approached the collection of school buildings. “It was nothing like that.” He shot Demyx a sidelong glance, a grimace in place. “When you escaped my class like that, after being so reluctant to talk about it in the first place, I decided to go over your head.”

Something about that made a little section of Demyx’s blood heat up – it felt… wrong. Frowning slowly, he said, “So, when I didn’t want to talk about it, you just figured you’d cut me out completely? Even if maybe I had a good reason for not telling you, you just – ignored that and satisfied your curiosity, huh?” He really didn’t think he liked that. “I really don’t think I like that.”

Zexion shook his head with frustration. Their shoes passed from grass onto a path leading to the central courtyard, the sounds of voices and feet and papers rustling becoming clearer as they neared the school’s heart. “It wasn’t about curiosity,” he corrected. “It was –” He sighed, searching for words that wouldn’t offend the blond further. _“Demyx._ You show up to my class with a black eye and cuts all over your arms, and won’t tell me what happened to the extent of virtually _fleeing_ the second you can…”

“Well, I didn’t want to endure another ignorance rage!” the blond stubbornly replied, as Zexion led him along one of the side paths, aiming away from the quad. The man squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

“Damn Axel for coming up with that,” he muttered.

“Yeah, well – he’s right about it,” Demyx stated, arms folding obstinately, now officially refusing to look at him. “You just – you get so worked up about things I couldn’t care _less_ about, and it’s like, you, you take it upon yourself to throw the tantrums _for_ me, and I don’t, I don’t need you to!” He scowled. “Let _me_ worry about me. Me, and Auron. You met me a week ago; you’re not allowed to just suddenly decide you’re in charge of hating the world for me.”

Zexion jumped slightly, startled, eyes wide as they swung around to look at the blond, who continued gazing steadfastly forward. “I haven’t –! I _didn’t…!”_ He fell silent abruptly, blinking ahead, brow furrowing. One hand rose to push through his hair, flustered.

Demyx stole a tiny peek at him, grimacing slightly at his obvious confusion. _“Look,”_ he said, relenting, “I understand that it makes you mad to see all these people going out of their way to make my life difficult, but it’s just…” He sighed a little. “Well, you probably know my world’s immediate history better than I do, Zexion. And they _were –_ they were crazy. My people, they changed, they went nuts, and violent, and…” He shook his head. “You just need to be patient with everyone,” he said softly. “They’re not all going to understand, you know? If you spend all your time wondering what the hell their problem is, you’ll lose your mind, because there’s _no good reason._ They know the facts, maybe, but for a lot of people…” The blond shrugged. “Facts aren’t good enough. All they know is what I represent.” He sent Zexion a searching look, willing him to understand. “All I can do is wait, I guess. And you need to do the same, if you really care so much about how I’m viewed. You can’t _make_ people be lenient. You just… you’ve gotta hope that one day, they’ll get it. And they’ll leave me alone. This?”

He waved a finger at his face earnestly, the bruises, Zexion looking over with a troubled expression.

“This is okay. This is to be expected, and maybe a lot more than this, I don’t know.” He frowned ahead, shoulders hunching slightly, the sound of the bells for next period piercing in the distance as they wandered the academy’s back paths. “I’m not saying it’s not scary, and I’m not saying it doesn’t hurt… and I’m _not_ saying it’s, like, my due or anything. But…” He trailed off for a moment, suddenly wondering where he was heading with this. Eventually, he just shrugged. “I’d be happier if you didn’t freak out about it, that’s all. And I’d… I’d prefer that you didn’t take it upon yourself to check everything out about me, like going to Auron like that.” Lucrecia murmured in his head, and he echoed her, “You’re not in charge of my wellbeing.”

He could feel Zexion’s hackles rise a bit at that last part, but the fact of it was that it was _true,_ and the man shifted uncomfortably with how clearly that rang. Every one of Demyx’s words slotted perfectly, neatly, into place, every single one of them holding vast rivers of awareness.

Zexion glared at the pavement. “Why is it… that you’re the one who gets hurt so often, but it’s you explaining to _me_ the value of patience?”

Demyx smiled over at him tiredly. “Because I have to live with it, and you _don’t._ I’ve had a lot of time to get used to it.” He then lifted his shoulders, affecting lightness. “And I always wasgood at people. They’re not that complicated as a torch-wielding mob, you know.”

Zexion snuffed a slight laugh, hands digging into his pockets. “In that case… I apologise. Both for – scaring you off with my overzealous reactions, and for ignoring your… obvious avoidance and going to your guardian.” He glanced over, adding, “I only ever had good intentions. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Demyx bobbed his head. “I know,” he said easily. “I understand that, too.” For a moment, their eyes locked, smiles in place, the air clean between them. Then Demyx hesitated, leaned close. “But… can I ask you something, while we’re alone like this?”

Eyes narrowing slightly, an eyebrow lifted, Zexion hesitated. “…What?”

The blond sucked a breath, then blurted, “Why, why, _why_ does Axel only have _half_ an eyebrow? I know it’s the night job, but he wouldn’t tell me if I didn’t tell him first about my getting beaten up!”

Zexion blinked, then laughed suddenly. “He works with pyrotechnics, to no one’s surprise. One of the audience members got a little – over-affectionate – towards Marluxia, and threw… a garment… onstage at the club they perform at.”

Dem’s eyes widened. “They perform at a _club?”_

“Marluxia’s a club-circuit magician. Axel does the special effects.” Zexion smirked, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Anyway, this… _garment_ that was thrown onstage, it caught in one of the machines, don’t for God’s sake ask me which one or what it does, I haven’t a clue… but the upshot of it was that it caught fire. Axel went to the rescue, and… well… things just got messy from there.” He lifted his chin, regarding the distant treetops merrily. “I can honestly say that I’ve never found their act as entertaining as I did this weekend.” Demyx laughed, a long, drawn out series of giggles, Zexion’s smirk increasing. He studied Demyx for a moment, as the blond smothered his face behind the hot water bottle from Sora, then suddenly guessed, “Do you play the _accordion?”_

Demyx's laughter only increased.

Zexion checked his wristwatch, looking pleased with himself. “I’ll write you up a tardy slip before Saix can come hunting or tell Ansem. Come on.”

Far more companionably than they’d started out, the pair made their way towards the English classroom, where Zexion would scribble out a note, hand it to the blond to hurry across campus with, into the now empty locker room where he’d change into the pair of soft pants he’d remembered to bring, only to find, when he entered the large basketball court ten minutes late, that no one was there, because, as promised, track and field season had started.

 

 


	14. Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Demyx panted to the only place he knew to have a running track: the area by the bleachers, which he’d left only twenty minutes earlier. Heart sinking, he approached to find the rest of the class already halfway around the field, Saix standing to one side with a stopwatch and his clipboard, a cap jammed over his long hair.

 

Hand tightening around Zexion’s tardy slip, he slowed, Saix hearing his thudding steps and turning, already knowing who it was. “I see you’re late,” the man observed, in that deceptively soft, reasonable voice. “That’s five laps. Get going, before I make it ten.”

 

Holding up the coloured slip like a warding amulet, Demyx edged closer, saying, “Uh, Zexion, from the English department, he gave me this to give to you. It, it wasn’t my fault.”

 

Saix stared at him for a long moment, yellowish eyes flat, then snatched the piece of paper away, narrowing his gaze at it as he read. “…This was issued fifteen minutes ago.” His eyes flashed up, studying Demyx for a moment, and despite whatever the man might once have said, Demyx felt like it was _Saix_ who was the predator, far more than he would ever be. If he had to describe his own position in the circle of life, the blond would sadly have to go for something in the rabbit arena; Saix, though – he was like a hyena, only less amused. “Did you enjoy a leisurely walk to my class, mad-worlder?”

 

Demyx hardened his jaw, biting back his argument – damn it, Saix had _heard_ him come jogging over, could easily see the slight pink in his features from the trip between the gym and the field. Demyx obviously hadn’t been taking his time. Quietly, he attempted to explain, “It wasn’t that, I didn’t, it’s just that I didn’t know where –”

 

“I informed the class very clearly last week that this week we would be beginning track and field.” Saix’s tone was curt now, his long fingers scrunching up Demyx’s tardy slip into a ball and dropping it carelessly to the grass. “Don’t play coy with me. Twelve laps, for lying. Go.”

 

Something reckless, born out of frustration and the last lingering scraps of impatience left over from Zexion’s earlier behaviour, threatened to burst out of Demyx in that moment – he’d endured a tiring day, a tiring night, a tiring _everything._ His face ached, his elbows stung, he’d tried so hard to avoid _precisely this,_ and no one was even around to hear it and vouch for him.

 

“Fifteen, for hesitating.”

 

Demyx blinked, came abruptly out of his brief internal struggle to find a malicious glint in the man’s eyes.

 

“Shall I continue to twenty, mad-worlder?”

 

This… was getting ridiculous.

 

Demyx got going, packing his anger down hard. It was bullying, plain and simple. Revenge, maybe. After all, Saix had it in for him, and had got his wrist slapped for being an asshole. He now even had to allow Demyx to participate in the general class activities, with track and field season starting up. Leaping hurdles wasn’t exactly going to be categorised as a danger to society. And so, since he’d been robbed of all ability to unfairly torment the blond, and with Sora poised to complain vocally at a moment’s notice, Demyx figured that this sort of control game was all Saix had left at his disposal. What was worse was that the only way he’d be able to successfully combat it would be to do _exactly what Saix told him to,_ first time, every time. His cheeks burned at the degradation of it, but there was really nothing else to be done. Head-down obedience was the only way to stifle this guy’s vendetta against him. He sure as hell didn’t want to aggravate it any more than he already had done simply by existing.

 

This, Demyx resignedly supposed, was the flip-side of the Zexion coin. Find one man who wanted little more than equality for the freaks, and somewhere his polar opposite would be lurking, ire as intense as his counterpart’s righteous indignation. The blond just figured it was something he’d have to put up with, unfairness and all.

 

He repeated this over and over in his mind, trying to smother the dragging unhappiness – the edge of depression – that was starting to settle in. He couldn’t let Saix affect him like this; had to focus on the good, like Sora, and Zexion, even Axel – not to mention Axel’s frighteningly tactile, pink-haired friend. Demyx had been cheerful not that long ago, resolving things with Zexion… but now, here he was – running.

 

At least it was something he was good at.

 

One foot in front of the other, arms swinging a little stiffly because of his injuries, each step sending a jolt through his various aches and pains – but Demyx could run all day. He was long, with a naturally athletic frame, and an instinctively deep stride that covered more ground than those who bounded haphazardly over it. He knew his perfect pace, knew his limits, knew to control his breaths and heart rate. Saix could give him twenty laps if he wanted, and Demyx would _run_ twenty laps. He at least wouldn’t have to suffer giving the man the satisfaction of watching him falter and fail.

 

It was a large field; the track itself ran in an ellipse further in, the warm-up run taking place around the grassy, level edges. The rest of the class managed to stay almost perfectly opposite him the entire way around; the only ones that seemed to slow so that Demyx might have caught up were predictably Sora and Riku, who Saix barked an order at, after which they reluctantly sped back up to rejoin their classmates. They only ran one more lap before finishing, the group trickling into the centre of the field to where Saix stood waiting by the rough, brown track. When Demyx passed them by, he felt the awkward mix of stares and avoiding gazes he’d been experiencing for so long now. However… it was the strangest thing: he had to swallow a sudden lump at the apologetic disappointment of Sora’s expression, the subtle, regretful shrug that Riku sent over as the blond rounded the corner and left them behind to set off on his third circuit. It was really something he could confess to never having experienced before on this world. These people… had no obligation whatsoever to support him or stand by him. And yet, they did. They were _… the good._

Demyx was almost wearing a smile, head lowering, motions becoming smoother as his muscles warmed. In the end, what was there to really complain about in all this? He was getting exercise – it had been so long since he had stretched out like this– and the sun was shining down on him, warming his perpetual chill away, blood rising to his skin. He let out a sharp puff of steamy air, feeling the fresh air against his face, through his hair, enjoying it for… pretty much the first time in memory. Except for Saturday mornings, coming out of the hospital as a free man after each session with Lucrecia, there really wasn’t a time he’d ever _liked_ the feel of Midgar, cold, strange-smelling and hostile… but this, he could get used to.

 

As he began his fourth lap, he saw the seniors doing exercises, running up and down one straight stretch of the orange-brown track. He passed them again, Saix keeping a sharp eye on him, deliberately swinging around to watch him, no doubt in an effort to be unnerving – but Demyx could have laughed at the weakness of it. Stares? Stares were nothing. Even if he spent a week practicing in the mirror, Saix couldn’t measure up to some of the looks the blond had received.

 

He was – he was feeling almost _light,_ believe it or not. Almost _giddy._ Almost _giggly,_ with his temperature rising, sweat trickling down his body. He felt hot, because he was wearing fleecy pants while everyone else had chosen shorts, but Demyx didn’t _have_ shorts. Considering the sub-zero mornings, he could honestly say that it hadn’t occurred to _anyone_ to buy him a pair of _gym shorts._

Now, he really did laugh a little. He made his way, shoes pounding the earth, past the seniors for a fifth time, and by now his heart was pounding pretty fast, but it was a controlled pulse. He laughed again, hot, slick with perspiration, gasping at the raw air with its odd taste and smell, gasping to get enough oxygen into his depleted lungs, gasping deeply and coughing out one final chuckle before stumbling hard.

 

His heartbeat burst suddenly out of control, racing with terror, because _daytime was when they got you._ Not just the mindless people, the zombies, but the terrorists that had sprung from every rotten hole in the country – insane people, bloodthirsty people, the people that thought _you_ were a zombie, even though you were clean enough, and wore an expression of alarm and fear everywhere you went. These were the hours in which the raiders and looters and kidnappers and murderers struck, whether they wanted your food or shelter or just wanted to even up the odds a little. After all, the less people there were with pieces on the board, the more likely you were willing to win, right? _Right?_

That smell on the air, it was the sickly-sweet rot of bodies littering the ground mingled with smoke. It was enough to send a man out of his mind, if he hadn’t needed it so badly to survive. Oh, Lord, the things Dem had seen, the odours he had inhaled, the sweat he’d poured as he’d sprinted through the eerily quiet suburbs.

 

For Demyx, the light was the lesser of two evils. Darkness would have been better for travel in another day and age, but since the advent of the zombies, the utter dissolution of society, he was just too damn _scared_ to go alone at night. At night… you could hear the wounded crying, the families passing with what little they had left of their original group, and behind it all, the roar of flames. Everything seemed to burn at night: flames were always lighting the black sky, and death seemed to visit more often when they did.

 

Demyx had the kitchen knife in the front pocket of his hoodie, and he was running. He was good at running, good at ignoring the empty houses on either side of the narrow strips of road, staring straight ahead and only veering sharply at the presence of a body in the middle. The sky was the colour of a rampant infection, had been for nearly thirty hours now. The world was _sick,_ it was dying,and all he could do was keep going, the knife handle bouncing against his empty stomach.

 

Numb inside, Demyx _had_ to keep going, or he would be dead before dusk. He could only run, and run, and run to escape his inevitable fate; and maybe, as long as he didn’t stop, he would be able to stave it off completely. He wouldn’t be torn apart, wouldn’t end up shot to death, beaten or eaten, burnt or starved. Running made it all seem distant. And yet, it was the fact the he had to run that made it all so real. He _couldn’t_ escape this. Couldn’t escape anything. He was doomed, as much as the decomposing corpses littering the city; he wasn’t going to make it out of this. He knew it, deep inside, deep down where he could be nothing but honest with himself. Because if the people here didn’t get him, then the missiles from elsewhere would, slamming down one after another. The planet was being torn apart at the seams.

 

_He would be one of the corpses, one way or another, and the resurfacing of society would belong to those that walked over his bones._

But Demyx, he… he kept running anyway.

 

.o.O.o.

 

Demyx woke slowly at first, limbs and head heavy, everything feeling thick and indistinct. Then, very abruptly, it occurred to him that he shouldn’t have been asleep in the first place, and as something cold and wet touched his forehead, his blue eyes snapped open.

 

_Someone was standing over him._

Zexion saw the sudden contraction of Demyx’s pupils as panic blasted through him, features and body seizing with terror, and without pausing to think, slammed his hands hard down on the teen’s shoulders, fearful of him lashing out in his disorientation. If Demyx somehow managed to hurt him in his confusion, there’d be hell to pay, and Zexion knew that _he_ wouldn’t be the one to suffer.

 

Bringing his face down close, clear in the blond’s line of vision, he said, voice hard and uncompromising, _“Demyx, be calm.”_

Demyx was gasping, chest hitching rapidly up and down, head twisting from side to side as he tried to catch sight of his surroundings,but with Zexion pinning him down, all he could do was thrash for several seconds, before his strength, meagre as it was, drained away.

 

“You passed out on the field,” the man told him firmly, “and Sora and Riku brought you here, to me. We’re in the teachers’ lounge.”

 

Demyx came to himself gradually, awareness lagging but catching up the longer that the man’s voice filtered through the fear and into his mind. He felt flu-ish and weak, like he’d spent a week in bed behind drawn curtains, and that familiar ache of every layer of skin having been peeled away, the ferocious, repulsive vulnerability, was intense enough to represent physical pain. He coughed a little, winced, and finally stopped struggling, his chin sinking. He began to shudder quietly, hands coming up to wrap around himself, turning onto his side. “…Zexion?” He was bewildered, faint, breaths still coming hard, but at least more evenly now. A measure of control had returned.

 

Zexion relaxed his grip, pulling back and noticing with a stab of guilt that he’d left red marks upon Demyx’s upper arms – as if he needed more bruising. “Are you okay?” he asked evenly, inspecting the blond closely from behind the curtain of his fringe.

 

Eyes still vague, Demyx glanced around, groping absently at his stomach, swallowing hard and licking dry lips, before haltingly asking, “Where… where’s – my knife gone?”

 

Zexion blinked, brow creasing, looked quickly around to make _absolutely sure_ no one else was around. That wasn’t the sort of thing you wanted a nervous eavesdropper to carry back to Ansem, or anyone else for that matter. What if that sort of question got back to Demyx’s hospital? What would happen if people thought he was carrying a knife?

 

… _Was_ he carrying a knife?

 

Zexion cleared his throat, asked neutrally, “What knife, Demyx? I didn’t know you had one.”

 

The blond’s eyelids fluttered for a moment. He mumbled to himself, inaudibly, Zexion’s concern growing by the minute. This wasn’t normal behaviour, not even slightly. He’d had Sora come tearing in fifteen minutes earlier, panicking about Demyx passing out during an extended run that Saix had put him on, but no one had said anything about the teen doing or saying anything odd. It had been overexertion, pure and simple – Zexion had got right on the phone to the boy’s ShinRa representative, informed Sir Auron quickly of the matter, and had Sora and Riku bring him to the teachers’ lounge rather than the no-doubt occupied infirmary. Sir Auron had confirmed that it had been months since Demyx had undergone any rigorous exercise whatsoever. He’d got too hot, no doubt wasn’t hydrated enough for the activity, and had passed out – not to mention he would have been weak anyway from the events of the previous night. 

 

But this…

 

Zexion’s gaze was fixed on the blond, on the pained expression of Demyx’s face, the fingers still clutching at his front, but slower now. His eyes were blinking a little wider each time, but there was an unmistakeable air of… distance about him. He still wasn’t really _awake,_ by the looks of things – not coherently so. A thin frown set itself on Zexion’s features. What exactly was going on in Demyx’s head?

 

With a sigh, the man lowered to his knees beside the long couch that Demyx had been placed gently upon before Riku and Sora had to return to the remainder of their gym session. He gripped the sides of the teen’s face firmly between his hands, the damp cloth he’d been dabbing his brow with forgotten on the couch’s arm, sending little trickles down the brown leather, and steadied his head, directing his gaze forcefully into his own eyes.

 

“Demyx.”

 

The blond blinked quickly, tried to glance around, stopping when Zexion carefully squeezed his face, flinching a little at the pain it brought to his existing injures. Zexion didn’t want to have to hurt him like this, but if there was no other way to get him to focus, he’d slap him if he had to. In this public place, waking him up as rapidly as possible had to be the top priority. Besides which… “Demyx, I need you to tell me about the knife. Do you _have_ a knife?”

 

Once again, Demyx’s eyelashes fluttered, eyes rolling slightly. His breaths developed their ragged edge anew, dread filling Zexion’s chest as he saw the confirmation coming.

 

“…Got it from… the kitchen block,” he rasped, throat sounding dry. There was an unhealthy flush to his cheeks, heat under Zexion’s hands. He was feverish. God, not only that, he was _stupid._ He had taken a knife from the home that ShinRa had supplied? _What the hell could he need a knife for?_ Was it in response to last night’s attack?

 

“From… the empty house,” the blond added, voice beginning to fade. He closed his eyes. “Because otherwise, I had no way to fight off the zombies.”

 

…What?

 

Zexion blinked, shaking Demyx a little and demanding, “Care to repeat that? Zombies?”

 

Demyx’s eyes flashed open, fear in their depths. “What? _Where?”_ He resumed grasping at his stomach, desperate now. Zexion quickly released one side of his face and grabbed hold of the seeking hand, telling him sternly, “There’s no knife there, Demyx. Where is the knife supposed to be?”

 

“In the pocket of my hoodie,” the blond replied, sounding baffled. Zexion stared for a moment.

 

“…I thought you weren’t allowed to wear those sorts of clothes.”

 

Now, for the first time, Demyx looked at him, really _looked_ at him. A small line appeared between his brows, forehead slowly crinkling. His respiration slowed back towards normal, as he again murmured, “…Zexion?”

 

The man had never heard anyone sound so small and lost in all his life. Meeting Demyx’s gaze determinedly, he repeated, “Demyx. You passed out during gym, on the field, and have been brought to the teachers’ lounge. You’re safe. There are no _zombies._ You’re not wearing a hoodie. And if you have a knife, _for the love of God, tell me where it is.”_

 

Demyx blinked, eyes widening, body stiffening slightly with new tension. His stare slid to one side, but this time, instead of – of drifting back out of focus like it had last time, Zexion could see, actually _see_ his mind taking things in: chairs, desks, plants, books. His face turning a little to the side, he noticed the couch, realised he was lying down.

 

“I… passed out? No, I…”

 

“The knife, _your knife,_ Demyx,” Zexion said stubbornly, refusing to let him branch into other questions before he got his answer. At long last, Demyx frowned, returning his eyes to the other man’s.

 

“…I don’t have a knife.”

 

Zexion flicked his gaze from one of the blond’s clear eyes to the other, measuring the verity of his words, weighing them with what he knew of the boy. At length, he let out a breath, sagging a little. He nodded, and let go of Demyx’s face, the teen looking suddenly confused as to why he’d been holding him to begin with. Zexion dug knuckles into his eyes, rubbing hard as he attempted to steady himself after the intensity of the last few minutes.

 

“Are you… okay?” Zexion went still at Demyx’s soft voice, worry evident. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Now there was alarm building in Demyx’s tone, Zexion lowering his hands, eyes slightly red from where he’d been pressing.

 

“No, of course not,” the man told him, brows lowered. “Why on earth would you…?”

 

“…I had a flashback,” Demyx quietly told him. “I didn’t pass out, Zexion, I went back to – a memory. Of my world.” Suddenly, he sat up, the leather creaking beneath him as he sharply added, _“Shit.”_ He grabbed handfuls of hair and tugged, frustrated, saying, “I don’t believe it! Another subject down the tubes! And Saix isn’t going to care, he won’t understand – he’ll probably make me run harder!”

 

Startled, Zexion lifted himself quickly up onto the couch beside the blond, demanding, “I don’t understand – you suffered a flashback? What does the running have to do with it?”

 

“Everything!” Demyx had shaken off his lethargy like a dried skin, was now buzzing with agitation, leg bouncing up and down like it did when he was filling with nervous energy that couldn’t be expunged. Resting his forehead on the heels of his palms, the blond bit out, “The running did it, it was a physical trigger, just like windows get me _visually._ But I don’t know what to do! I can’t just stop running, damn it, I don’t want to have to – cut off pieces of my life bit by bit until there’s nothing left to it anymore. _God, I’m so pathetic.”_ With this final sentence viciously imparted, the teen dug his face into his hands, teeth visibly clenching, the cords on his neck standing out.

 

All Zexion could do at first was stare, really. This was – the absolute greatest extent of emotion he’d ever seen Demyx display. Usually, the blond was too frightened of the effect he had on others to even dare more than a timid smile or that pleasant, utterly bland countenance – but now here he was, practically grinding his teeth with impotence, not just agitated, but _angry,_ actually distressed and _angry._ The anger was entirely self-directed, but still – it was more than Zexion had even known Demyx _could_ exhibit. It was – somewhat incredible to witness. He wondered how long it had been since the blond had been able to vocalise this sort of outburst.

 

He said nothing, did nothing, afraid to scare the rare spectacle away, when Demyx so obviously needed to do this. If only he’d been allowed _some_ form of an outlet, whether it was through music or another avenue… but this was probably the most he was going to get for quite some time to come.

 

Eventually, the blond settled down again, the remembrance of himself and where he was occurring like cogs twisting in his brain. He hesitated, before inching one hand away from his eye, looking apprehensively at the teacher next to him. Zexion, inexplicably, was smiling a little. “Feel better?” When Demyx didn’t respond, he went on, “I’ll take it as a compliment that you can do that in front of me. I won’t tell anyone that you acted human, I promise.”

 

Demyx studied him for a silent minute, one bright eye exposed while the other remained hidden behind his fingers. After a while, he asked, “You’re sure I didn’t do anything… aggressive?”

 

Zexion shook his head slightly, leaning back against the leather. “You were unconscious, and then awake and confused. Nothing more.”

 

Demyx slowly rubbed his hands over his face before letting them drop down between his knees. Zexion left him alone, didn’t poke, didn’t pry. He let him recover, all the while running through his mind the fact that Demyx had suffered an _actual flashback._ Right here on campus. He hadn’t expected it – had assumed that surviving the math class meant that nothing would set him off. Physical triggers, visual? Why was there so much going on here that nobody knew about but Demyx himself, and probably his mentor? Were the rest of them supposed to just learn as these things happened?

 

Feeling a flash of irritation, but knowing better than to let it out, he leaned forward again, mimicking Demyx’s elbows-on-knees pose, and looked hard at the blond. “We need to get you home,” he decided, noticing that the flush had yet to fade from his cheeks, a burnt sort of look to it. “The day is practically over anyway, and you can’t return to class, or stay here in the lounge.”

 

Uncertainly, Demyx eyed him off. “Are you sure? If I leave without permission again…”

 

Zexion snuffed a slight laugh, eyebrow arching as he indicated himself. “I’m a teacher, aren’t I? In fact, not _only_ am I giving you permission –” he stood, turning to Demyx with hands in pockets, “but I promised Sir Auron that I’d walk you home.”

 

Demyx’s eyes widened, alarm and surprise crashing together. “…Walk me…?”

 

Zexion inclined his head. “When a student faints on campus, the parents are always called, and the student sent home for bed rest. You are _no different to any other teenager in this school._ Understand this. Please.”

 

Demyx stared. “Why can’t Auron come get me?”

 

“He could,” Zexion replied wearily, “if you were willing to wait until after closing hours for him to arrive. He said he’s been called over to ShinRa’s main office at Sector Zero for ‘important negotiations’.  It would take him at least an hour and a half to get back here, if he left immediately. Since you were going to be fine, he allowed me to take care of things.” With a grimace, he added, “Of course, that was when things were straightforward… perhaps I should call him again, inform him of the flashback.”

 

“Um…” Demyx was looking uncertain, nervously twisting a long lock of hair. “Didn’t you already call him twice today? Snooping about my injuries –”

 

“It wasn’t like that,” the man objected, stung.

 

“– and then this last time… I don’t know. He might get annoyed.”

 

Zexion scowled. “Isn’t his job to be putting your welfare first?”

 

Demyx glanced away. “Well, mine and… the rest of Midgar’s…”

 

At this, the teacher seemed to lose some of his energy, shoulders slumping a little as Demyx continued to tug at his hair in a nervous manner. Dragging a hand out of his pocket, Zexion darted a look down at his wristwatch. “Honestly, Demyx, it’s up to you. I have no qualms in walking you home, but if you’d rather Sir Auron, I can call him again, or you can, if you’d be more comfortable with that. I only want what’s best for you, whatever you’re happiest with.”

 

Demyx’s hands went still, fingers pressing into the blond strands, a strange look crossing his face. “…Me?” He watched Zexion for a blank moment, before shrugging haltingly. “Then… in that case, it, it’s okay. I don’t mind you walking me, I guess.” Demyx felt awkwardly warm all of a sudden. He self-consciously laced his fingers together between his knees as Zexion faintly smiled.

 

“I’ll gather my things, then, and we’ll stop off at the locker room so you can change back into your street clothes.”

 

Standing up, Demyx felt shivery, feeble. Now that Zexion had finally stopped talking, his mind began replaying the theatre of horrors he had relived in those fifteen unconscious minutes, the images rushing through one after another. As he paled and wobbled, Zexion grabbed at him, seizing an elbow and a shoulder, steadying his bony frame. “Heavens, you’re thin,” he muttered, momentarily distracted, before demanding, “Are you okay? Do you feel well enough to walk?”

 

Demyx hunched up stiffly, expression tightening, Zexion worriedly wondering why until the blond went, “I – ow. Ah. You’re hurting.”

 

The man blinked, looked down to see that he was gripping Demyx’s gashed left arm with all his strength. He released instantly, shocked, apologising rapidly, the blond waving his words away tiredly. Then, Zexion went quiet. More gently, he returned his hand to the teen’s elbow, hesitating to ask, “May I?” Frowning with confusion, Demyx gave an open-to-interpretation motion of his head, at which the man delicately wrapped his fingers around his left arm and lifted it towards the light. His eyes slowly scoured the tattoos swathing Demyx’s arm almost all the way to his collarbone.

 

He released the teen’s shoulder, the hand travelling lightly down to his wrist, a finger trailing along the lines with a scowl of concentration in place. After several moments of it, feeling the tiny scratch of the man’s fingernail against the marks on his knuckles, Demyx began to fidget, eyes wide. “Um… do… do you have to…?”

 

Zexion shot him a glance, paused, then carefully lowered the arm back down to his side. “Forgive me,” he said. “I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just – I only ever get to see it in passing, normally. I just wanted to see…” His mouth twisted down at the corners, disapproving. “I wanted to look closer at what separates you so much from the common man.”

 

“Huh.” The sound from Demyx’s lips could almost have been classed as bitter. He traced the black ink as Zexion had, with a dark, lonely familiarity. “And into the realm of monster.”

 

There was a brief silence. “They must have hurt a lot,” the man remarked quietly. At this, Demyx rubbed his wrist, gaze flicking down and away.

 

“We should probably get going, right? If you’re walking me? I’m not feeling so hot. Flashbacks are… bad news.”

 

Zexion looked slightly shamed as he quickly agreed, “Yes, of course, you’re right. Like I said, just – let me get my things.”

 

The trip to the locker room was quiet, the halls silent, voices drifting out from the classrooms they passed, the two of them walking side by side. Demyx listened to the squeak of his sneakers, the clip of Zexion’s harder-soled shoes. Throwing over a glance at the man, he asked, “So, how come you don’t have class?”

 

“Study period,” Zexion replied. “It’s a tough year for the seniors, they need all the time they can get. Your class is scheduled for one on Friday.”

 

“Ah.” Demyx nodded absently, unable to imagine life that far in the future right now. He felt jagged, like the ends of his nerves were so many exposed and broken bare wires, ready to catch on the walls and sleeves of passers-by, scratching and shocking and stinging. Having Zexion around was helping to keep the memories at bay, but they were in there, leaving him feeling shaken and frail.

 

They eventually arrived at the lockers. With thirty minutes of class still on the clock, the cavernous room was empty, echoing as Zexion offered, “I’ll wait here at the door while you change.”

 

Demyx was conscious of every amplified rustle as he took off his gym pants and swapped them for the feel of denim. It felt weird, being here with someone else, knowing that Zexion could hear each and every little noise, and was just standing there, waiting, while Dem got semi-naked around the corner. If he hadn’t known it would only make things feel weirder, he might’ve started whistling to drown it all out.

 

Finally, he was able to push his small locker shut, the clang sounding out loudly, and, with his bag hooked over his shoulder, arm sock back in place up his right forearm, beanie tugged on, scarf wound around, Demyx returned to where Zexion stood. The man raised a querying eyebrow, asked, “Ready?” Together, they headed out of the building, past the silent gymnasium and out into the brittle air. Distantly, Demyx heard the shrill of Saix’s whistle travelling along the crisp wind, imagining the class of seniors jogging up and down the brown track.

 

Softly, he said, “I hope I didn’t make Sora and Riku worry at all.”

 

Zexion shook his head a little, swinging the hair briefly out of his eyes. “You did, but only because they wanted to. Only because they care what happens to you.” He sent the blond a sideways smile, but Demyx couldn’t return it, was feeling queasy all of a sudden. He couldn’t handle the thought of people caring about him, right now. Not after seeing what he had, so clear, so vibrant, so terrifyingly real. His body was in Midgar, he was awake and aware, but – his mind was still buried deep within memories, heinous memories. To clash the two worlds together was too much to cope with.

 

Zexion’s smile faded, the sudden flatness of Demyx’s expression evident even with the hat Sora had given him pulled low. “Demyx?”

 

The blond’s head jerked a little towards him, a bland smile in place. “Everything’s fine,” he automatically said, sounding like a tape recorder had been set up inside his throat, programmed to repeat custom phrases at the press of a button. It was his pretend mood; plastic expression, plastic voice. But only moments ago, he’d been fine – Zexion didn’t know what to do, what to say – didn’t know how to keep up. Was he supposed to call the boy out on it, or let him continue like this? Was this what usually happened after a flashback? All he could do was frown, unsettled by the blond’s change in manner, and continue to walk alongside him.

 

They headed out of the school, Demyx seeming to curl in on himself the second they stepped over onto the pavement, hands winding slowly around the black strap of his bag, chin lowering into the revolting scarf of Sora’s. Zexion made a mental note to ask the boy to, for the love of all that was good and holy, snatch it back and exchange it for one of Roxas’ black-and-white ones. That shade of green did nothing but draw attention, something that Demyx did naturally all by himself anyway. And if Roxas complained, Zexion would shut him up by buying a new one. Anything for peace.

 

Out here on the street, Demyx was even quieter than usual. There was a different air about him, a jumpiness that had been tamped down – an unmistakeable sense of hiding within one’s own skin. Of course, this was impossible; wherever they went people stopped, gawped, not even noticing the anger in Zexion’s glares as he attempted to silently set them straight. No – all eyes, forever, were fixed firmly on the blond. It was unnerving just to walk beside him. Not even being the focus of so many stares, Zexion could _feel_ the way they pierced, the fear, the horror, the anger and accusation. Demyx, however, didn’t seem to notice; he kept walking, as steadily as he could considering that he’d passed out less than an hour ago, had been brutally beaten the night before, and was, by the looks and feel of him, generally malnourished.

 

Zexion had never really had the chance to get a good, close look at the teen. They were always at school, always caught up in either an argument or a guessing game, or distracted by work or other people – it had never just been the two of them, one on one, in a neutral environment. He was beginning to see, the longer that they walked, that there were going to be many aspects of Demyx’s life that he hadn’t even considered yet, let alone brushed upon in his conversations with the blond.

 

So lost was he in contemplation, Zexion found himself startled when Demyx suddenly stopped, turning to him with a dully expectant smile. “Well, this is me. It was nice of you to walk me, Zexion. I’ll make sure to let Auron know you kept your word.”

 

It had to have been about twenty minutes since they left the school, Zexion barely even taking note of his surroundings, too intent on noticing all he could about the agonisingly vulnerable male beside him. He looked up with interest at the aged building they’d paused in front of. “This is where ShinRa has you set up?” Demyx eyed him for a moment, saying nothing. “Can I come up?” Zexion asked.

 

A measure of surprise entered the blond’s face, Zexion silently grateful. After the earlier outburst, it felt hideously unnatural to see him acting so distant. He was just – Demyx was all over the place. One minute angry, the next pleasant, the next, cold as ice, and always in the most non-threatening manner possible. It couldn’t be good for him to be so unstable, neither for his mental state, nor his image.

 

“…Okay.” Demyx looked like he couldn’t think of a reason to say no. Just as well – Zexion wouldn’t have been happy just letting him wander away into the dim building, not knowing for sure whether he’d made it safely all the way to his apartment. After all the unpleasant looks the blond had been receiving on the way over, it wouldn’t have shocked him to see Demyx tackled the second he was alone and dragged away to be beaten all over again. He was beginning to see, now that he was experiencing it firsthand, how Demyx could be so blasé in informing him that the violence had been an expected development. It had been so much easier, within the school’s confines, to be outraged by such a placid approach to so much aggression; but, restricted as he was, what else could Demyx do? In all honesty, what could he rationally _do?_

 

After a slight hesitation, the blond turned back towards the door, pushed his way into the building, leading Zexion up several flights of stairs. They took a turn at the third floor, walking along a dim passageway, Demyx pausing at the furthest door along and taking out a set of keys, slipping the foremost one into the tarnished lock and clicking it sideways. A breath of sharply clean air swirled around Zexion as he stepped over the threshold, the blond silently holding the door open until he was through, before shutting it again and re-engaging the locks.

 

The place was small, bare, and incredibly cold. It had a quiet atmosphere – there was something contemplative in the air, though it was perhaps difficult to detect beneath the powerful scents of cleaner and Mako. Demyx must have been living in the path of one of the cross-winds from the reactor – housing was cheaper along that stretch, Zexion knew, and most probably ShinRa-owned to prevent any complaints from the inhabitants. Something twitched inside him, wanting to voice an objection, because nothing had been proven yet definitively regarding the long-term effects of the direct exposure to Mako fumes like occurred to those living in the cross-winds – but one look at the drawn blinds, the sealed-off feel to the place, and at Demyx’s similarly closed face, changed his mind.

 

For the moment.

 

Demyx, while the inspection took place, had dropped his bag on a tattered green sofa over against the wall, and passed into the small, square collection of benching that represented the kitchen. He clicked on the kettle, the sound of heating water rising to gently disturb the hush that clung to the walls. Shoes making only slight sounds against the floorboards, Zexion tentatively stepped further in, eyes flicking from Demyx to the rest of the apartment and back again. He saw the blond put two white mugs from an upper cupboard down on the counter, plucking up a yellow slip of folded paper from beside the sugar and opening it, reading silently for a moment.

 

“Is that from Sir Auron?” Zexion asked, moving deeper into the sitting room, eyes passing over an ancient television on a small cart in the corner. Demyx gave a non-committal noise, and replaced the note on the bench, beginning to spoon coffee into the two cups. Zexion hid a grimace, continued exploring with his gaze. “…It’s chilly here. Does the building have a heating system?”

 

The blond lifted his shoulders, saying nothing. As he added sugar to the mix, the kettle boiled, clicking off automatically, allowing silence to flood in its wake, the type that was – oppressive, and awkward. Zexion’s sigh was audible, Demyx’s shoulders twitching slightly as he said, “Demyx – if you’re not comfortable with me being here, I’ll go. I didn’t want to irritate you with my presence, I only wanted to make sure you got up here okay.”

 

The blond’s motions faltered for a brief moment, half his face turning towards the man. “…No. It’s fine. I’ve already put out the coffee, and Auron won’t drink it.” He turned again, his back once more to Zexion as he stirred. “Auron doesn’t like my coffee.” After a moment, he added, “Sit down. Don’t… don’t hover.”

 

Unaware that he hadbeen, Zexion nevertheless did as bidden, taking the corner of the green couch and trying to look comfortable. Evidently, his presence had the blond as unsettled as he himself was beginning to feel. It was disappointing, in a way – he’d spent a reasonable amount of time with Demyx at school, getting to know him as much as he could, but upon actually being in the blond’s own territory, the place where he’d imagined he could work the most good… he suddenly felt like an interloping stranger.

 

When the coffee was brought over, he accepted it with polite thanks, trailing off as Demyx didn’t join him on the couch, instead crossing the short room and sitting on the floor with his back to the slatted blinds covering the one light-giving window. The teen was gripping his mug tightly, staring down into its murky depths, no doubt stung by the heat but showing no signs of pain. A long, embarrassed silence passed between them. Embarrassed for Zexion, at least.

 

At last, Demyx gave a little cough which could have been a clearing of the throat. “I’m… sorry. For not being… better. At this.” He dipped his head a little lower, and now Zexion couldsee that he wasn’t the only one – the discomfort, the cringing, passed in and out in minute shades of the teen’s expression. “I – you’re… You chose a bad time to try something that… I haven’t…” He reached up, slowly pulled the hat from his head, dropping the woollen creation to the ground and self-consciously spiking his hair. “You’re the first person other than Auron to be in here. I wasn’t… ready. Today.” Darting up a half-frightened look, he said, “I don’t even know if you’re supposed to be allowed to come in. We’ve never really… covered the subject of visitors. It’s never been an issue.”

 

Zexion’s eyes widened suddenly, coffee almost slopping as he quickly placed his mug down hard on the floor. “Demyx! I’m so sorry, I should never have imposed, I should have _thought –”_

The blond, however, merely waved his fast words aside, looking tired. “If Auron had thought it would be a life-or-death situation, he’d have made sure you knew when he was talking to you. It’s okay. They’re not exactly going to… going to lock me back up for having someone over. Plus, you’re my teacher,” he added as an afterthought, as if this proved all credibility beyond a doubt. He drew his shoulders up, knees lifting and knocking together, hands lacing together under his thighs while the coffee steamed beneath them, and looked boyishly alone.

 

Zexion stared for a moment, then slowly placed his fingers around the rim of his cup, lifting it back up, and lowered himself to the floor, back resting against the sofa’s hard edge. Folding his legs neatly, replacing the mug just in front of his crossed ankles, he said, “I’m still sorry, anyway. I should be responsible for thinking of that sort of thing as well as you. I should have realised.” Again, Demyx shook his head, an impatient crease between his eyebrows dismissing the apology.

 

“It’s okay. It’s fine. Don’t worry.”

 

A new silence developed, slightly easier than the last one, broken after several minutes by Zexion offering, “If you want, you can come sit on the couch. You don’t need to worry – I’m not afraid of you, Demyx. You know that, don’t you? Not at school, and not here alone with you, either.”

 

The blond hesitated, chin swivelling to the side, eyes remaining downcast. “Yeah. Thanks. I know. It’s just… I can’t sit over there right now. I can’t… I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be facing the window. Not before Auron gets here.”

 

The man blinked, brows briefly rising, gaze darting up at the shuttered light. “The…?”

 

“Visual trigger,” Demyx shortly explained. “I’m more susceptible after an episode.”

 

“…If you don’t mind my asking…” Zexion’s voice was cautious. “What was it that caused it at all?”

 

A hollowness reached Demyx’s words, expression slackening. “…The running. The running around and around like that. Saix made me run because I was late, even with the tardy slip. And… it took me back,” he stated, flatly matter-of-fact. “I was running through the streets, after everything had happened.”

 

“A knife in your sweater pocket…” Zexion softly supposed. Demyx nodded.

 

“Yeah. That’s what was happening to me. While Sora and Riku were carrying me to the teachers’ lounge to you, I was back in my home world, running like hell.” He stopped speaking, the memories swelling, and took a stabilising breath. “They’re not going to let me drop gym. They – they’ve already made an exception for math. If I start to make them think I can’t operate in the outside world, they’ll…” He stopped, looking sick, Zexion helplessly unable to think of anything to say that might reassure the boy.

 

Gloom settled through the apartment, the very walls seeming to react to the blond’s will, as if Demyx had truly spent enough time between them to let his nature soak into the bricks. Zexion gazed at him steadily, eventually saying, “I’ll help as much as I can. It’s true that you can’t keep stopping parts of your life to suit your condition.” He smiled over at the blond. “But there will be ways around it, I’m sure. Don’t worry, Demyx. You’ve got people supporting you.”

 

Demyx toyed with the rim of his mug, sliding his index fingers around in half-moons, listening but not quite registering what was being said. It had only been a week; it was still too soon to believe he could rely on anyone but Auron. People like Zexion… they were nice. And they trusted him. But he was like any one of the nurses at the hospital; supportive because he had to be. Because it was his job. That didn’t make the support any less effective, but… it was ephemeral. Once Demyx was gone from their everyday routine, so too would the support, because it wasn’t their _life’s_ job to be that way – it just meant that they cared enough to help him out while they could. And that was fine, he was grateful for it – but in the end, he only really had Auron.

 

So, Demyx briefly lifted his blue eyes for the first time, and smiled for the man. He said, “Thanks. I appreciate it.” And even though there was a dull edge to his words, Zexion didn’t know any better, and smiled back, feeling that, finally, like he was really beginning to help the teen.

 

They each took a sip of cooled coffee, and when Zexion had finished his, he took his leave, Demyx remaining in the cold, quiet apartment, waiting for the appointed hour of Auron’s arrival, just like he always did.

 


	15. Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Due to delays and heavy traffic, Auron didn’t manage to make it back that night before Demyx went to bed. The blond cleaned his cuts, reset his bandages, and went to bed with silence so pure it was like the volume knob had been broken on life. He had no dreams that night; evidently his mind had exhausted itself by delving into the past, and was content to sleep and recover, building power for the next unprecedented attack.

The next morning, Auron was there early, kicking the end of the bed with one heavy boot. “Wake up.”

Demyx’s eyes snapped open to darkness, heart jumping at the sudden jolt. Disorientated, he lifted his head from the pillow, sleep-swollen eyes shifting up to the figure that loomed over his bed with confusion. “…Did I oversleep?” The alarm hadn’t gone off yet. Slowly, clumsily, he drew an arm out of his blankets and reached over for the clock, wiping his face while squinting at the numbers, scowling a moment later. “I’m really… not oversleeping.” Dropping it, yawning widely, the blond pushed achingly up into a sitting position, the frigid air hitting him a second later as the blankets fell from his shoulders. Massaging his forehead wearily, wrapping his arms around his upper body, he cracked one groggy eye open, asking drowsily, “Auron? Are we going somewhere I forgot about? It’s only Tuesday, right?”

“We’re heading out for breakfast,” the man told him, and giving no further explanation, left the room to allow Demyx to dress.

The boy stared glassily at where he’d been standing, brows drawn together in a puzzled frown, the words slow to register within his blank mind. Then, as the chill began to creep through his flesh, he clambered out of bed in search of warmer clothing. He emerged into the sitting room minutes later with Sora’s hat and scarf adorning his head and neck, asking of the man, who stood by the window looking out at the world in a way Demyx would never again feel comfortable doing, “Uh, are the downstairs neighbours cooking meat again? I can’t-I can’t smell it yet.” He halted with another shuddering yawn, mind still not quite caught up to the situation. “Can I have some time to wash my face?”

Auron turned, looked him up and down with an unimpressed expression. “…You can, but at the same time, do me a favour, get rid of those things.”

Demyx blinked at him, realisation dawning as he noticed the man’s customary glare focused tersely at his colourful Sora additions. He clutched at them defensively. “But they’re warm,” he argued, bewildered. “You didn’t complain about me wearing them in to see Lucrecia; why do I have to get rid of them just for going to breakfast? Where are we going?”

Auron grimaced. “…I know it’ll be cold for you,” he said at last, after what appeared to be some kind of internal debate, “but I need you to take off the hat and scarf this time. Keep your arm sock, but lose the ones that colour-blind kid gave you. Just for this morning.”

Demyx stared with incomprehension, wavering but still puzzled. “…Can I at least put them in my bag for later?” he asked. Auron sighed.

“Fine. Do that.”

Frowning, Demyx reluctantly reached up, and, after a moment’s hesitation in which he hoped that Auron would change his mind, unhappily yanked off the woollen items. Trailing back to the bedroom, he pulled his satchel up from beside the bed and unclipped it, carefully pushing the hat and scarf inside. Wondering exactly what was going on – he still couldn’t smell cooking meat from downstairs, which was the only reason they _ever_ went out for breakfast – Demyx went to wash his face and brush his teeth. As he combed and fixed his hair, foreboding began to set in. Auron was acting just the slightest bit out of character; he was usually more up-front than this. Why go to all this trouble, waking Demyx early, making him take off the weird clothing when it previously hadn’t bothered him, taking him out of the apartment like this…? Was – was ShinRa planning something? Was this Auron getting him out of the way for them to _do_ something to his apartment, like – like plant listening bugs? Or cameras? Or go through his stuff? Had they all found out about Zexion’s visit, and now they wanted to _monitor_ him?

“Calm down. You look about ready to have a panic attack.”

Demyx gasped with a jump, eyes leaping over to see Auron in the mirror, standing just outside the bathroom door. In all his ruminating, he had stopped combing, starting up again now with the man’s steady, one-eyed gaze upon him. “I’m not, I’m just…” His mouth dried up. He didn’t know what to say.

“Demyx.” Auron’s voice was the same as ever. “Relax. It’s just breakfast. Nothing sinister is going on.”

The boy grimaced, placing down the comb and feeling his spiked hair automatically for style flaws. “We never just have breakfast, though. I don’t…”

“Trust me.” The man said it simply; it was hardly a request, more like a command, although given in the nicest possible way, Demyx supposed. Auron wasn’t _asking_ to be trusted – he was just telling Demyx _to_ trust him. Properly. To not… be suspicious of this altering of the routine. Maybe to believe that Auron had his best interests at heart?

If it had been anyone else, Demyx wouldn’t have been able to answer. But Auron had been alongside him for a while now, had seen him at his worst and never once ratted him out to ShinRa, and especially not Hojo. So instead, nervously, Demyx hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah.” His voice echoed slightly in the tiled room. There was a beat of silence between them, before Auron slid away from the door and back towards the body of the apartment, Demyx not far behind him. He gathered his things for the day ahead, slung his bag over his shoulder, and followed the man over towards the front door. “So _is_ there a reason for us doing this?” he asked uncertainly. “More than just – breakfast?”

Auron shot him a long, flat look for a moment. Then he said, “It’s just the doughnut place on the corner,” and led the way out into the hall, pausing only to make sure Demyx was locking up before they left. Demyx released a sigh, mouth twisting with displeasure for a moment before settling into a blander expression as they descended the three flights of stairs and left the building for the big, cold world. Despite Auron’s… Auron-like assurances, the blond couldn’t help feeling tense as he followed the large man along the pavement. Auron had made no mention of the phone calls Zexion had placed the day before, not even to ask about his supposed fainting spell. He hadn’t asked after the boy’s Sunday-given injuries, and even with the assertion that everything was business as usual, Dem could tell that he wasn’t the only one with tight shoulders here. It made him frown, chest constricting a little, but as long as his guardian kept insisting that nothing bad was going to happen, he remained on the more positive side of nervous.

Once again, as usual, the streets were quiet at this hour, the sun having not yet risen, the cold wind keeping those who wereout and about sealed up inside their heated cars, and reducing Dem to violent shivers he knew better than to complain about. He thought longingly of the scarf and hat so nearby, but Auron’s specific request to get rid of them stayed his hands, kept him steeped in frozen misery as he hurried along in the gloom. Up ahead, three blocks away, the doughnut store sent bright light out through its long windows like a beacon, its little neon sign clearly visible. Evidently containing compassion within his soul, Auron didn’t allow for any dawdling, setting a sharp pace the entire way to get Demyx out of the frigid air as quickly as possible. It didn’t change the fact that the teen was blue-lipped by the time they got there, but he appreciated the sentiment, all the same.

The store was like a hot bath after the outdoors, its warmth and light soaking into his skin the instant he stepped inside, hands rubbing fiercely up and down his upper arms while his teeth chattered all over the place. Auron let the door swing shut behind them, murmuring, “Take the usual table; I’ll order the drinks,” and melted away towards the counter, where the man Demyx knew to be the manager of the place was serving. The air had its usual welcoming scent, some of the blond’s tension already beginning to dissolve as an unfamiliar event became a familiar one, his eyes and feet immediately going to their regular little out-of-the-way booth. He slid in, arranging his bag on his knees, skin still cold but losing that jittery, slapped feeling as he waited for Auron to join him.

The brightness of the environment was helping to banish his lingering fatigue, the comfortable informality of the place aiding in soothing his jangled nerves. He hadn’t been given a chance to balk and protest, hadn’t had the presence of mind to give in to any of the raw feelings leftover from yesterday’s episode; the hurried, breathless start had driven it all briefly away to the peripherals of his awareness. It tried to leak back, slowly, but it seemed that the edge of it had been blasted away – it was present, but duller, all the anxiety that Demyx usually felt after such a flashback finding a difficult time bursting into full being in what felt like a safe environment. He and Auron had been coming here for a little while now – probably about eight visits in all since he had moved into the apartment those few weeks ago – and so far, he had never been harassed, not once. Of course, that was probably because they always came at such an inconvenient hour, and Auron provided a nice screen for trouble – but still, even the staff had never given him any trouble. It was nothing like going grocery shopping, that was for sure.

Just a few seconds later, Auron returned, earlier than usual and without the drinks. Demyx’s eyebrows lifted, the boy asking, “Where’s my coffee?”

“The manager is bringing them to us.” Auron sat sideways in his seat, one elbow on the table, gazing flatly across the store. Demyx was confused.

“Why the manager? Do you know the guy?”

Auron grunted. “To an extent.” Lips twitching downward, he gave a quiet sigh, then turned his face to the boy and said, “Listen. For some time now, Heidegger has been insisting that you need to get a job, to get off the ShinRa payroll and start returning the money they’ve been spending on you, hospital stay and visits to Lucrecia included.”

The blond went still as he processed this sudden information, Auron waiting patiently. “…Why didn’t I know about it, if Heidegger’s been saying it for a while?”

“I’ve been telling him you’re not ready.” The man started tapping one gnarled finger against the tabletop. Demyx allowed this to sink in, staring at the tanned, scarred finger.

“…And now?” he asked, his voice suddenly hoarse, a spark of fear beginning to sting at his insides. Auron sent him a look that said it all. Demyx began to panic, the little doughnut store abruptly seeming a hell of a lot less comfortable – feeling hot and tight, sweat prickling at the blond’s brow, palms going damp. “Auron – no,” he said, choked and small. “I’m still not ready. I’m – how am I supposed to get a job? Nobody in their right mind would hire me! And, and I barely have any skills!”

“You said,” Auron remarked neutrally, “that you had worked in a coffee shop before, didn’t you?”

Demyx jumped, fingers clutching the edges of the table, leaning forward and whispering wildly, _“Here?_ You want me to work _here?”_ His eyes widened a second later, body flattening against the table, voice becoming even more of a desperate hiss, “That’s why the manager is coming over!? Auron – _look at me!”_ He gestured frantically to his bruised face, his healing arms. “I’m a mess, and you want me to go through a _job interview?”_ He clutched his head, fingertips digging into his scalp with something very akin to terror. “If I work in a place like this I’ll be in contact with people all the _time,_ customers, employees – _what makes you think I’m ready for that?”_ He stared beseechingly at Auron, feeling the absurd urge to cry. The horror was strong, steamrolling his strength, his small amounts of bravery, his will to flatten every emotion into a cookie-cutter mould of pleasantness. His hands shot across the table, snatching fistfuls of the man’s sleeves, face a strained mess of fears and flickering anger. _“Auron –_ why did you stop telling him I wasn’t _ready?”_

“I didn’t stop,” he growled, jerking free and sitting back, putting distance between them, shifting his broad shoulders and gazing sideways across the shop. “But Heidegger insisted. I went all the way in to Sector Zero yesterday to convince him otherwise, but Heidegger’s focus is money, and he and the ShinRa Company are of the opinion that after several weeks of exposure you should be ready for the next big step. It’s nothing I have control over.”

“What about Lucrecia?” Demyx anxiously demanded. “She never said a single thing about it, wouldn’t _she_ know? Wouldn’t she be able to talk to them?”

“Lucrecia has nothing to do with your finances, Demyx,” Auron told him wearily. “Even if she knew, she’d have even less say in it than I do. Just be glad it’s me telling you about it, and not Heidegger or some official from ShinRa. I wouldn’t have put it past them to just turn up at your door and inform you the time has come to obtain gainful employment.”

“You mean the way that _you_ are?” the blond demanded between gritted teeth, eyebrows turned up at the middle. “Auron –”

“This isn’t up for discussion, Demyx.” He said it flatly, blunt and to the point, making the boy flinch. “This is happening, whether you like it or not. And here come our drinks; this is the man who we want to be your boss, so try to make a good impression.”

Staring at him only a moment longer, Demyx drew back, slowly feeling his only newly realised faith in his guardian suffer a fault line. Why couldn’t Auron have told him this at the apartment? Why assure him that everything was fine, and then slap him with an event so huge that he needed at least a week to come to grips with it, let alone a little over a minute? It was – it was base manipulation. It was a blatant _trick._ Had Auron seen the way that Tifa had handled him with the numbers on Sunday afternoon, and decided that the greatest way to breach a difficult situation was to resort to cunning? To – to treat him like an _idiot?_

“Don’t give up on me yet, Dem,” the man muttered across, before saying, at normal volume, “Rin, thanks for taking the time to see us.” He stood, reaching out a callused hand to shake with the man arriving with two large cups of coffee.

Rin was a curious combination of fair hair and nut-coloured skin, with a placid face and an accent Demyx couldn’t place as he greeted, “Good morning, Sir Auron and Demyx. Thank you both for frequenting this establishment as much as you have in the last few weeks.” Demyx blinked at the use of his name, the amicable attitude of the man as Auron shifted over to let him join them at their booth table. Even more surprising still, upon settling across from him, Rin then smiled directly at him. “I am glad to make your acquaintance, young man. I understand from Sir Auron that you require a job, correct?”

“I… uh… well…” Demyx stammered, caught off guard, Auron answering for him, “Demyx is concerned that his being here will cause a negative reaction from your customers.”

Well – that wasn’t exactly what he’d been planning to say, but he supposed they might as well get that not un-large obstacle out of the way. He stopped trying to speak and instead studied the manager closely as he gave his reply. At first, Rin was thoughtful, evidently considering the concept. Then, he simply shrugged. “In my home world, my people were ostracised for being different; I know what it is like, and would be disappointed in myself if ever I tried to recreate such an attitude towards others.” He smiled. “You may not fit an ideal, but I am willing to give you a chance, young man. The public will learn to not be afraid, I am sure.” He rapped his knuckles on the table briskly. “Now, let us talk of experience. Sir Auron tells me you have worked in a setting such as this before, correct?”

Demyx took a moment to swallow, eyes skating over the table sightlessly as he attempted to gather his thoughts, brows furrowing. “Right – uh, of course, well…”

He cleared his throat, and recalled for Rin his time in the café in his own world haltingly, going over his former duties, the skills he had learned, the hours he had worked and the pay he had earned. He talked about the relationships he’d had with his boss and fellow employees, and as he spoke, the two men listened carefully, Auron sitting back while nursing his coffee, Rin nodding every now and again with an attentive expression. By the time Demyx stopped, he felt as though he’d been talking more in those thirty or so minutes than he had in an entire month – he was almost exhausted by it. He let out a low, heavy breath, Auron inclining his head faintly in approval. Demyx flashed him a slightly confused, half sheepish smile. He supposed Auron hadn’t been so bad, after all – at least he’d brought him to somebody who would listen to him, who wasn’t afraid. It seemed like Auron was the main guy to go to when someone like that was required. Demyx’s trust hadn’t been misplaced, in the end. He still didn’t think he liked the way it had been done – but at least Auron hadn’t moved to the screwing-over camp like it had initially appeared.

With the conclusion of the interviewing process, more customers entering the store as the sun rose over the horizon, Rin nodded and reached over to pat the blond on the back of the hand. “That will do, thank you. I’m sure your qualifications are enough to get by here, I have nothing to complain about. Once it is decided with the ShinRa Company, we can organise your hours and wage. I look forward to it.” He began to stand, shaking Auron’s hand again, courteously saying, “Sir Auron – until the next time. Thank you for considering my establishment for your charge.” With a straight back and firm stride, Rin gave one final nod and smile, then left the table to return to the counter, already taking orders alongside the other employee at the register.

For several minutes, neither Auron or Demyx spoke, their silence a reflective one. The blond noticed the man watching him, and sent over a faltering half-glare, like he wanted to be mad but couldn’t quite manage it. “…I don’t think I like you much right now,” he said at length. Auron lifted one shoulder acceptingly. “You’re lucky that that Rin guy is so easygoing,” he continued, an accusing tone to his voice, expression struggling to remain neutral. “If it hadn’t been him, who would you have considered trying to fix me up with?”

“Maybe Tifa,” Auron supposed. “But I didn’t think she’d be thrilled about being on ShinRa’s books. She doesn’t like the company very much.”

“I wonder why.” The sarcasm felt good, but it spelled the end of his wavering mood – with a warning look from Auron, a darting look about the shop, Demyx returned to being quiet, his agitation settling into the space in his chest reserved for the inexpressible. For the remainder of their drinks, they each kept to their own thoughts, Demyx hunched over, a faint frown on his features. He could still feel his heart beating, that scared-rabbit reaction pounding through his temples. The idea of being forced to go to work to pay off his ShinRa debt – it sent shivers up his spine. It made his veins _cold,_ his mouth turn dry, his teeth clench and grind… but there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing but take it in stride, not let on how badly it frightened him, and play the game as ShinRa dictated. The only alternative was to rebel, which was no option at all.

As they finally stood to take their leave, the hour close to when Demyx was due at the academy, he felt the weight of yesterday’s events begin to resettle on his shoulders with this latest shaking event, forming a brittle cage somewhere inside his throat. He inhaled slowly, running fingers through his hair, not glancing about as they made their way over to the door, sparing only a second to toss a thin smile over at where Rin continued to work – the man threw a wave back at them before they headed outside, apparently irrepressible.

“…So how long had you been planning this?” the blond eventually hoarsely asked, as they manoeuvred their way through the steadily increasing human traffic of the sidewalk, shoes scuffing the pavement. Auron, gazing ahead, let out a non-committal grunt.

“Since I knew you’d had experience in that sort of thing in your past life.”

Demyx looked over sharply, astounded. “That long?! That – that was in my paperwork! You’d have known that since before you even knew _me!”_

“And I’ve known Rin for longer still,” the man responded, “vaguely, at least. I delayed today’s meeting as long as I could, but ShinRa doesn’t want to coddle you any more than it has already. Rin is your best shot at being treated like a human being. I thought I’d have longer to prepare you, but –” He shrugged. “Turns out Heidegger was more determined than I’d given him credit for. Sorry,” he added, as an afterthought. Then, “Do your best.” He reached over to pat a hand briefly onto the boy’s shoulder. Demyx sagged a little, wondering how he could possibly ‘do his best’ when everything inside him cried out for mercy.

“So when do I start?” he asked, voice cracking slightly. He was terrified the man would reply ‘tomorrow’, but rather than immediately respond, Auron scowled. Demyx glanced over hesitantly. “…Auron?”

“…After Hojo clears you for it,” the man muttered. “You’ve got an appointment at the end of the week. Saturday morning. We’ll take a cab.”

The shock would have been less if Auron had turned around and punched him in the gut. Demyx stumbled to a halt, white as a sheet, eyes bright and fearful and large in his suddenly ashen face. “Are you serious? Why? I don’t have to see Hojo anymore, I’ve got Lucrecia now. Saturdays are when I see _Lucrecia._ Why do I have to see _Hojo?”_

“Because there’s no way around it,” Auron growled, reaching over and grabbing the boy by the strap of his bag, yanking him back into motion, pulling him along as Demyx’s jellied knees started to buckle with each step. “Hojo is the overseer of this sort of thing, he has to clear you as sane and healthy for the next big step in the grand adventure of life. It’s just routine, so don’t freak out about it. That would be what made him happiest of all.” He gave the strap a harsh tug. “And quit that,” he bit off. “Stand properly; you’re not a kid to be scared by the boogieman.”

Hurt, Demyx sucked in a breath, trying to be what Auron expected of him. He straightened his spine, quickened his step to keep up with the man, fighting to keep his breaths even, mind working frantically to maintain a state of calm. Like Auron said, nothing would make Hojo happier than knowing he was having a bad effect on his ex-patient – except maybe having Demyx flip out completely and get carted back in an armoured van. He had to be strong about this – had to show just how far he’d come in the weeks since his release. Hojo was a sadist, a sick freak, and Demyx had to prove that he was _thriving_ out of the man’s care, like a plant that had managed to live despite being watered with rat poison. He coughed once, coughed a second time a little desperately, feeling his respiration falter as if it could turn on a coin and plunge him into a fit of gasping panic – but then Auron interrupted, drawling, “Don’t tell me – that’s the colour-blind kid.”

Demyx inhaled hard, let out one last startled choke, then, eyes watering, swung to see where Auron was looking. They had reached the school before he’d even realised it, absorbed as he was in fears and worries and agitation, and there at the gates, standing in his puffy silver jacket, a burnt orange beanie with blue earflaps while wearing a magenta scarf wrapped around the bottom half of his face, was Sora. Nearby, looking decidedly more normal, stood Riku, and to the side of them, slightly apart from the duo, Roxas leaned against the cold brick of the wall, head down and reading a book.

Sora spotted them across the street at the same time that Auron noticed him, letting out a distant shout and throwing his arm through the air in a frantic wave. Demyx and Auron watched the boy grab Riku by the shirt and lead the charge to the zebra crossing, waiting impatiently for traffic to clear before dashing across, making a beeline for Demyx with a look of determined concern. “Dem!” he exclaimed, the moment he was within range, releasing Riku to instead transfer his grip onto the blond’s shirt front, pulling at the thin material as he shook his arms up and down anxiously. “Dem, how are you? Do you feel okay?” He let go of the shirt, patted Demyx’s shoulders, then clutched his face between his hands and stared worriedly into his eyes as though searching for evidence of disease. “You just vanished from the school yesterday after you passed out on the field, Zexy said he took you home but he wouldn’t tell me what _happened,_ and that is _so unfair_ because I was right _there_ when it happened! _And_ I’m your friend, I have a right to know, don’t I?”

Sounding surprised, Auron murmured, “That’s right – you fainted. I forgot to ask about it, after everything with Heidegger.”

Sora threw him a scandalised glare. “And you’re the guy who’s supposed to be taking _care_ of him? Nice going, buddy! Try doing your job, why don’t you?”

Auron stared for a moment, registering slight astonishment on his usually stoic features, before the corner of his mouth twitched. “…I can see now why you wear those blinding woollen things,” he said to Demyx, then gently tapped a knuckle against the blond’s bicep and started turning away. “Stay level. See you tonight. I’ll bring dinner.”

Sora gaped as the man exited the scene, apparently content with leaving his charge in the presence of a kid with serious fashion issues, the faintest hint of a genuine smile on his face. Outraged, Sora exclaimed, “Wha-at! I don’t believe it, he left without even saying goodbye to you, Dem! What kind of a guy _is_ he?”

Demyx lowered his chin with an automatic smile, feeling bewildered by the boy’s sudden presence in the middle of so much upheaval, struggling to switch gears to match Sora’s exuberance. “It’s okay, Sora – Auron says goodbye in his own way. He’s really not bad.”

“Not bad my ass,” the boy scowled, watching Auron melt into the crowd before returning the full brunt of his attentions to Demyx. “So what happened? Are you okay? How do you feel today?”

Demyx reached up, hesitated for a moment and then gently disengaged Sora’s hands from their clamped positions either side of his face. A part of him watched warily for any negative response from the boy at being touched – any sign of feeling threatened – but Sora, being naturally Sora, only looked a little at a loss now that he had nothing of Demyx to cling to.

“I’m feeling fine. Zexion took me home, I got a night’s rest, and I’m here now feeling… completely all right.” He shivered, the cold swarming all over him, the lie sounding only a little bit wooden behind the mask of reassurance. But in a sense, he was at least feeling a little better – after all, Sora had come to meet him. And Riku, even though the kid obviously couldn’t get a word in edgewise with the chattering Sora absorbing every breath of communication space. Demyx could tell that he kind of cared too, though – he was sending over a sympathetic sort of look, though whether it was for yesterday’s suffering or the current moment with Sora he couldn’t quite tell.

“Are you completely, entirely, a thousand percent certainly _sure?”_ Sora asked penetratingly, leaning forward with a suspicious frown.

Riku touched his shoulder to call him off, saying, “It’s good to see that you’re feeling okay.” Demyx gave a small, genuine smile of appreciative relief as Sora backed off, then jerked, instinctively flinching when the boy instead grabbed him by the left arm.

“Oh, your cuts,” Sora remembered in reaction to his sudden movement, thinking it had been pain rather than a recurring sense of shock at having the cursed limb touched, looking down and rearranging his grip around the scabs.

Then, without another moment’s pause, the energetic boy guided the way back over the road to the school, Riku walking on the other side of him, Roxas pushing away from the wall as they approached. He clapped his book shut, pushing it into his bag and raising an eyebrow at the way Sora was apparently joined at the hip of the resident mad-worlder.

Demyx stumbled along beside the kid, listening to his outpouring of woes on the topic of yesterday’s supposed fainting spell, Saix, and the evils of teachers who either pushed students too hard or didn’t reveal pivotal information to concerned parties after a disaster. It seemed as though any other actual input wasn’t necessary – needing only to give the occasional hum of assent and nod of his head, Demyx allowed himself to be steered towards his first class for the day, breaking out into a crooked smile when Sora’s parting remark before moving on to his own class was, “And where the hell is the stuff I gave you? You’re freezing to touch, did you know that? Damn it, I’m going to need to get you more hats – don’t worry, I’ve got _heaps_ at home.”

He was gone like a whirlwind, and though he was a bewildering entity first thing in the morning, and it might have been attributed to the sudden presence of classroom radiators, Demyx felt warm for the first time since he’d woken up.

o.O.o

Seeing Zexion again brought a chill trickling back.

The man was waiting for him as he came out of Paine’s history class, leaning against the wall looking grim. Catching sight of Demyx, expecting him as he was the last out of the room, the first words out of his mouth were, “Do you want to file a report against Saix? I’ll support you if you do.”

Oh, for crying out loud.

Demyx hesitated, flicked his gaze over Zexion’s expression, then lowered his head and continued walking straight past him. “I don’t need your support. I’ll be fine.”

There was a pause from behind, then an incredulous, “You’ll be _fine?”_ Zexion’s footsteps came quick behind him, the shorter man trying to keep up with Demyx’s long legs, the blond rather eager to not have to talk to him right now. He couldn’t handle this at the moment, couldn’t – couldn’t look at Zexion properly. It made him want to burn with some form of humiliation that the man had seen him in such a bad state: the vulnerability he’d displayed, the terrible way he’d handled having a guest for the first time, the way he’d come off as so… so _unstable…_ Eyes slamming shut, he tried to block out the man’s presence, but Zexion persisted as only he could, his voice managing to pierce its way into Demyx’s skull regardless of whether he wished it otherwise. Aggravated, he was saying, “He pushed you too far, Demyx; you know it, he knows it, the entire class saw it happen.”

“Yeah, and how many of _them_ would testify at a hearing, huh? I mean, _for_ me?” The words burst out of him in a daring moment, a startling burst of sourness in his heart that laced his words and managed to anger the man following in his wake.

“How about Sora?” Zexion demanded hotly, dodging a pair of skittering girls. “Riku? They’re the ones who carried you, the ones who’ve been harassing me since yesterday to know what really happened to you.” He let out a frustrated sound, evidently growing sick of the back of the boy’s head. “Why are you walking away from me? Stop, turn around – I’m trying to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk,” Demyx replied lightly, increasing his stride, passing through a clump of students on their way to their next period’s classes. They scattered as they noticed him, Zexion shooting them dark, disapproving looks as he strode closely behind.

 _“Demyx,”_ he said, deliberately calming his voice down, evidently trying to sound more reasonable, “this isn’t any form of – of ignorance rage, I am simply trying to see to it that Saix gets put on notice for the abuse of one of his _students._ I would do it for anyone, and it’s my fault it happened at all, I’m the one who kept you too long out of his lesson, I – I gave him an excuse to hurt you.”

Demyx’s steps slowed. He glanced back over his shoulder, hearing the regret clearly in Zexion’s tone, along with a heaviness that Demyx knew well – that lingering sense of having somehow failed. Zexion, their eyes meeting for the first time, was now the one to look away, expression shamed, frustrated. He stopped walking, Demyx reluctantly following suit, the two of them standing in the middle of the open-air corridor, the cold bite-biting at the blond’s exposed flesh.

Noticing the agitated, unhappy body language of Zexion’s stiff posture and hunched shoulders, Demyx couldn’t help but sigh, feeling a stab of pity. “Look,” he said, weary compassion in his tone, “it wasn’t your fault. Saix would have probably done it anyway, he was _looking_ for the excuse to push me. And he wasn’t trying to – to _actively_ hurt me, he just… he likes to…”

“He likes to make you suffer,” Zexion snapped, then took in a breath to tamp the fires of his righteous outrage, lifting his chin and meeting the blond’s eyes steadily. “I’m not trying to make your life more difficult, Demyx. I just want to make it so that someone like Saix _can’t.”_

“Isn’t that my decision to make?” Demyx asked simply, hands tightening around his bag. When Zexion stared, he added, “I just want to forget about it, Zexion. I want…” He ducked his head, frowning at the concrete. “I want to pretend it didn’t happen. I don’t want – to think about it anymore.”

He closed his eyes, and could still see the memory in his head, fleeting images of a world gone mad and wrong and twisted, and he didn’t want to have to _see_ that any longer than it would stay on its own. Raking it all up, drawing it out when he could just let it fade away – he wasn’t going to pursue a damn thing with Saix if it meant having to be reminded and reminded about what had happened just from being made to run a little bit too hard. Today might have started off in such a way as to dull the razor’s edge of the terrible aftermath of such a memory, but a kernel of panic remained within him at the thought of how many more times he might have to endure it – have to voluntarily run himself straight into another episode. If he could avoid thinking about that, even for a little while, then he would. It was as simple as that.

When he opened his eyes, Zexion was watching, and it was unnerving in a way – it seemed as though the man had seen every single thought racing through Demyx’s mind, like the blond’s brain was close to being an open book to him. Demyx’s stomach sank as he virtually confirmed it in the next heartbeat: “I’ve been thinking,” said Zexion, “and I might know a way to help you avoid – the sort of thing that happened yesterday. Maybe. Come with me to my office, and I’ll show you.”

Demyx knew what he was talking about: all that ranting of having a knife in his pocket, the borderline hysteria he’d displayed – he was haunted by the what-ifs of if it had been anyone but _Zexion_ who had found him in that state. Hojo featured strongly in a lot of the possible scenarios he had cooked up in his imagination since it had happened, and absolutely none of them ended well. Demyx swallowed a lump, gaze suddenly darting about, unable to maintain contact on the other’s clear eyes as he brightly said, “Oh, right, well – really, I need to be getting to class, actually.”

Zexion sighed. “Demyx, you have a free period, this was your mathematics block.”

The blond forced a thin smile. “Then _you_ have a class to get to.”

“My class,” he replied firmly, “can handle themselves for a while. I want to show you my idea.”

A flush of anger stirred in Demyx’s chest, one he had to bite down to prevent from escaping in the public setting, but nonetheless he allowed his expression to drop as he hissed out, “You can’t keep rearranging schedules to fuss over me, you’re going to get us in _trouble._ First you make me late for a class, then you’re making _yourself_ late – I don’t need you taking all these little side-trips just for the sake of pitying me!”

“This isn’t about pitying you.” Zexion stepped closer, took hold of the blond’s wrist, the tattooed one, the same one that the man had inspected with such fascination the afternoon previously that it made Demyx jump and feel a tingle in his cheeks to think of. Earnestly, quietly, Zexion continued, “This is about wanting to _help_ you, Demyx, and I was thinking and thinking about what you told me yesterday, and I came up with a possible idea. It’s ridiculous, it’s possibly pathetic and you might think I’m a total fool for even suggesting it, but I _want to try._ You deserve _better_ than this. Better than _this.”_ He squeezed the tattooed wrist meaningfully. “But until that ‘better’ happens, the least I can do is put forth ideas on how to control –” He reached out with his other hand, pressed a finger into the middle of Dem’s forehead, _“ – this.”_

Demyx nearly went cross-eyed trying to focus in on it. He resettled his gaze onto the serious face of the man right in front of him, feeling a moment’s cautious uncertainty.

“…What are you talking about?”

“Your biggest threat right now isn’t Saix or ShinRa or even the punks that beat you up and carve graffiti into your desk.” Zexion told him, eyes intense, “It’s _this.”_ He tapped Demyx’s head again. “It’s you, Demyx. Your memories, the triggers you mentioned.” A look of despair fleetingly crossed the man’s face. “You can’t even sit across from your own _window_ without worrying about setting something off, some horrible, repressed memory that’s going to scare anyone who doesn’t know what’s going on and put you through _hell_ in the meantime.”

Demyx started shivering, and this time it had nothing to do with the cold. Eyelids briefly fluttering, he asked, “W-well, maybe. You might have a point there. But what can _you_ hope to do about it?”

Zexion squeezed him again, harder. “Follow me. Please.” This time, Demyx wavered only for a moment before jerkily nodding his head. With fierce sort of gratitude, eyes shining, Zexion exhaled, _“Thank you.”_ He released the blond’s arm, turning and gesturing for him to follow, Demyx reluctantly bringing up the rear. It was reminiscent of following Sora around – there was a buzzing energy to the man that he didn’t usually exude. “My office is near the library,” he said over his shoulder, leading the blond through a building he hadn’t yet ventured into, up one of the ever-present flights of stairs and down a long, bendy corridor into a small room at the end. It was tiny, in fact, and piled with books and papers in a way that suggested not that Zexion was an untidy man, but merely that he hadn’t been given enough space to operate in. This was… different. Demyx was used to facing him in an empty classroom, a broad, familiar, communal space. This was cramped, and intimate in a way that completely unnerved him, with only a single window and no obvious escape routes except the one and only door. Less than ideal – it set his teeth on edge.

Not noticing, Zexion urged him distractedly, “Sit down, I apologise for the mess, I’m deputy head of the English department but they still won’t spring me a larger office – typical.” He, remaining standing, had opened a drawer in the overly large desk that filled far more space than it could afford to, rooting around among a collection of dead pens, sticky notes and paperclips. Demyx, watching on, quirked an eyebrow until, after letting out a victorious noise, Zexion commanded, “Hold out your hand!”

“Um…?” Demyx did as he was told, hesitantly offering up his covered right arm only to have Zexion wave an impatient hand for the other one, then, when it was within range, grabbing it and slipping something small, dark, and constricting around it. It clung to his wrist, Demyx frowning, pulling free and holding it up to have a better look. There, creating a thin band cutting inconspicuously through the dark, bold slashes of his tattooing, sat… “It’s an elastic band.” He shot the man a dubious look, Zexion sitting down heavily on a little chair with wheels that squeaked under his weight, looking simultaneously triumphant and unsure.

“An elastic band,” he agreed, pulling the chair in close to the desk. “A tight one, too, but not _too_ tight.” He leaned across, taking hold of Demyx’s hand and slipping two fingers under the rubber to double-check that it wasn’t cutting off the blood flow. “Just tight enough,” he murmured with satisfaction.

As Demyx began to ask, “Tight enough for –?” Zexion chose that moment to stretch it thin and let it go. The resulting stinging snap made Demyx exclaim with surprise, the impact short but sharp enough to echo through his nerve endings. “Ow! What the hell was that for?” He rubbed at the smarting area with one finger, shooting an injured glance across the desk at Zexion’s smiling face.

“That,” he said happily, “is my idea.” He shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed. “It might seem silly, but it’s the only way I could think to help you.” Putting his elbows on the desk, lacing his fingers together, his sense of triumph faded in favour of returning solemnity. “Look, Demyx – I don’t know how it happens when you end up in one of your episodes, but if you find yourself slipping away, if things start to go… _foggy,_ then try snapping the elastic. Use it, use the pain, to remind yourself of where you are.” As Demyx frowned, Zexion again reached over and plucked at the band, the snap making Demyx wince and hiss a little. “See how sturdy it is?” the man continued. “This is the sort that really _stings_ when you let it go. If that can somehow help…” He studied the blond’s face, the stirring comprehension but no less puzzlement in his expression, and with a low exhalation he sat back, folding his arms. “Like I said, I don’t know how it happens, or even if you’d _have_ time to try and pull yourself out of it. But it was all I could think of, Dem. If you feel the world turning fuzzy, snap the elastic as hard as you can, as often as you can, just to try and have something to focus on. It’s a basic solution, but it works for some compulsions and I just thought – if it could work for you, we might as well try it. And even if…” He leaned closer again, intent now, searching Demyx’s eyes for signs of understanding, of agreement. “Even if you can’t stop yourself from sinking down, if at any point you find yourself with just an _ounce_ of autonomy within these memories of yours, just a _second’s_ confusion, _look for the band._ If you look for it, maybe you’d find it and manage to bring yourself back – maybe even just recognising that something is supposed to be there that _isn’t,_ maybe _that_ would be enough to drag you out of it. I don’t – I don’t _know_ how it works, but I was just _hoping_ that –”

“It – it might.” Demyx was staring fixedly at a clear point on the desk, his lips barely moving as he spoke, a curious tingling numbness enveloping his face which slowly turned into a flush. His voice was barely above a whisper. “It might work, maybe, I don’t know either.” Realising with the utmost horror that his eyes were stinging with moisture, the blond blinked rapidly to banish the shine before Zexion could notice, though he was sure, as he let loose a noisy sniff, that the sharp-eyed man had probably already seen. A pocket of silence enveloped the office, Zexion going still across the desk, Demyx fighting back a sudden swell of feeling that pushed against the barricades in his mind and heart, causing them to creak, his lips parting so that he could draw a deep breath without making it obvious.

Zexion was trying to combat the nightmares. The memories. He was doing it _for Demyx._

What was – what was _wrong_ with this man, that he would dedicate so much energy towards helping some wayward hopeless case that just happened to stumble across his path like this? Why did he _bother_ with it? There was no reward at the other end of it, and nobody in _this_ world was going to pat him on the back and tell him he was doing a good thing… so _why?_ He barely even _knew_ Demyx, and yet… so much concern. Not even Auron… not even _Lucrecia_ had dedicated time towards trying to prevent his episodes beyond telling him to keep away from the triggers – even though it meant discovering each trigger only as they hit.

His fingertips tracing the line of the elastic band – so simple, completely inelegant, yet potentially workable – and felt his stomach swoop. His shoulders hitched as he drew in another large gulp of air, voice croaking as he muttered, “Thank you.” As Zexion tried to respond, he cut him off, again saying, “Thank you.” Demyx then stood sharply, causing Zexion to lean back quickly as he filled what little space they had. Without delay, Demyx blurted, “You need to get to class, and I – I have to find the library. Excuse me. Thank you.”

Nearly blind, not with tears but with a sudden maelstrom of internal activity the likes of which he hadn’t felt for months, Demyx swiftly left the room and staggered away, the hallways clear now of student life, the new study period in session with everyone behind closed doors. He didn’t stop until he found a bathroom, shouldering his way into the empty, echoing space and locating the furthest cubicle along, shoving inside and locking it behind him. Gasping now, he climbed up onto the seat, crouching down and hiding his eyes away behind his striped arm sock, struggling to keep up with the tide of emotion crashing inside.

Zexion was helping him. Nobody in the hospital had ever helped him like this. Nobody in the entire world had shown concern to this degree. Zexion was trying to _care_ about him. Demyx didn’t think he could cope with it.

Guilt yawned inside him, at the centre of the thousands of mental blocks and fences and obstacle courses he had constructed for himself, a guilt so vast it formed a canyon at the core of his soul. With a flicker of recognition that it was the first time he had been made to genuinely and completely feel something since the day his life had gone to hell in a hand basket, Demyx bit down on his tattooed wrist, and in this isolated, unpopulated safety, wept a little, all by himself.

 


	16. Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The day ended on a quiet note. Demyx didn’t see Zexion again before the home bell went, the man evidently having finally gone back to his classroom and stayed there. That was… a relief. Demyx was grateful for everything Zexion had done for him – the caring, the endless indignation on his behalf, and now the elastic band around his wrist – but he didn’t exactly know what kind of expression to wear when he next saw the man. He felt a little… at a loss. On the back foot. Zexion always managed to find a way to surprise him, somehow.

The emotional deluge he’d experienced as a result of the meeting with the man was still making its presence felt as a deep weariness that tugged at him, making him long for the comfort of home. It wasn’t often that he thought of his apartment as ‘home’, as such – but maybe this was a sign that he was finally settling in.

That was… weirdly saddening.

Demyx waited as usual for the school to empty out a little, slowly packing his things away, able to take as long as he wanted because the social sciences teacher, Wedge, never interacted directly with him and had vacated the room with the rest of the class rather than be alone with the blond. That suited Demyx just fine. From his seat in front of the teacher’s desk, he had a clear view of the courtyard through the nearby window. It was a prime position from which to watch the flood of students swell and then ebb, until it felt safe enough to head out.

His face was aching, the bruising encompassing his eyes and forehead throbbing faintly, more painful whenever he was tired, for some reason.  Lying down for a while… might be nice.

As he emerged out onto the sidewalk in front of the school, joining the straggling students and the general pedestrian population, the usual buffer formed around him – a slight but discernible area into which wary Midgarians refused to step. This must have been what it felt like to be a rock in a river. He approached the crossing outside the academy, attaching himself at a cautious distance to the edge of those waiting for the traffic to come to a halt. Mellow afternoon light doused Demyx, but was unable, as usual, to cut through the intense cold that the strong winds of Midgar carried. He stood stiffly, shoulders rigid, elbows tucked close to his body, eyes fixed on the traffic lights, willing them to turn green so he could keep moving and try to warm up a little.

A sudden honking made a good half of those gathered at the crossing jump, Demyx among them. A small, beaten-up, red car was passing, Demyx staring with wide eyes as a familiar face – or head and torso, as it were – hung out of the back window. Sora, as the car zoomed by, yelled, _“Bye, Demyyyyx!”_ Demyx caught a glimpse of Axel in the driver’s seat – Roxas presumably the blond next to him, though his face was covered by a mortified hand – and then the red car was gone, continuing up ahead. The traffic lights changed, and the waiting pedestrians crossed. Demyx’s heart was still thumping a little hard from being startled… but it was all he could do to not start laughing.

He had made friends with a weird kid.

But – _friends._ The idea of it warmed him, the smallest of smiles playing across his mouth. The walk home didn’t feel so lonely with that word echoing through his head. He was still sore and beaten up and all, but he also had the elastic band around his wrist, and Sora yelling out of windows at him. Yelling nicely, which wasn’t the usual way of things when someone started raising their voice to a mad-worlder. It was a novelty to have actual bright spots in his day. Out of this whole ‘back to school’ venture, Demyx hadn’t expected to find a silver lining like this.

Still, by the time he got back to the apartment, he was definitely done for the day. The weariness dragged at him like a boulder chained to his bones. Once he was inside, he lowered his backpack to the floor beside the door and shuffled into his bedroom, crawling onto the bed. He couldn’t remember the last time his pillow had felt this soft.

For several minutes, Demyx lay on his belly and gazed through hooded eyelids over at the wall, thinking lethargically of all the woes that had beset him lately, all the uncertainties. Just the last couple of days had been packed with troubles. It was exhausting to remember them all.

His hands up by his head, his gaze eventually focused in on the thin strip of black around his tattooed wrist, and again, he found himself faintly smiling, a weird counter to the crease that was slow to smooth from between his brows. How confusing _was_ this life? He didn’t know _what_ the hell he was feeling any more.

Well, apart from – gratitude, he supposed. Zexion had deliberately tried to think of something to help, after seeing how… indisposed Demyx became during a flashback. He didn’t do it because Demyx was a potential danger, or because he might frighten someone in his altered mental state, or even because Demyx was putting himself in danger by hallucinating about having a knife. Well, maybe the last part was a _little_ contributor. But, overall, Zexion had done it because he just – wanted to aid Demyx somehow. It seemed like everything he’d done to date, whether or not the blond entirely _approved_ of his ideas and methods, had been done for Demyx’s sake. And unlike people like Auron and Lucrecia, it wasn’t even his job. Zexion was like Sora, doing these things simply because he _could._

But, unlike Sora… well, when Demyx thought of Zexion now, he – he felt a little flush of warmth. It had to be all that gratitude he was experiencing. Zexion was a good guy. Demyx needed to make sure he thanked him properly, next time he saw him; he felt like lately all he’d done was tell Zexion off, when all he was trying to do was… help.

…Help…

_“Help.”_

_Demyx opened his eyes, and saw the window. Its draw was irresistible. It was the sort of thing where he knew he shouldn’t, he certainly wasn’t supposed to, but – they were out there. He could_ feel _them. He was even sure that, for a moment, he had heard them. He had heard… a cry. A plea. Could he stay here, huddled tightly, while they were out there calling for him?_

_Demyx moved slowly, rising to his feet on the mattress, stepping to the floor, crossing to where the window beckoned. His fingers brushed the cord attached to the blinds, pinching a moment later, tugging downward, flipping them open._

_And out there, he could see them. He could see it all. The broken world, the bodies, blackened corpses that someone had set alight at some point. They were extinguished now, charred and gently smoking. He felt his heart rise, along with his bile, into his throat. He was so sure he’d heard someone call for help – but when? When had he heard it? Had it taken him so long to get to the window that they had been killed and burned in the meantime?_

_Oh, God. He had failed, hadn’t he? That voice – whose had it been? It touched a memory deep inside, he was so_ sure _it was somebody he knew, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. And now he never would. Whoever had cried out… they were dead now. Because Demyx had been too slow. Because Demyx hadn’t been at the right place, at the right time._

_And now Demyx was the only one left._

_He was choking up, whether from tears crowding his throat or the vile stench of seared flesh making him gag, he couldn’t tell. He let out a sound, it was meant to be a horrified moan but it came out as something guttural, barely even human._

_“…ry…” He drew a breath and tried again, tortured as he cried, “I’m sorry!” He slammed his hands against the window, the glass violently rattling, eyes on the burned bodies. Oh, the guilt – oh, the guilt, the guilt, the guilt, the_ guilt, _the_ guilt, _the **guilt,** the **guilt**...!_

 “Demyx!?”

Gasping deeply, Demyx’s eyes snapped open to darkness. He writhed briefly, clutching at his surroundings, unable to decipher where he was, bewilderment crashing through him. “What? Where…?”

A sudden movement frightened him, his voice catching as something large and warm descended upon him, snatching at his feebly lashing wrists and holding him still. This time, when the voice authoritatively said, _“Demyx,”_ he recognized Auron within its depths.

He stopped abruptly, more confused than ever. “…Auron? Wh-what’s going on? Why’s it dark?”

He heard the man release a heavy breath, wincing as Auron pushed against him, his body leaving Demyx’s. A moment later, a blinding light burst into being overhead. Demyx flinched, covering his eyes.

“Demyx, it’s night-time. You were having a nightmare.” Auron stepped back towards the bed. “I could hear you from the hall.” His voice softened. “You were crying.”

“Crying…?” Carefully, Demyx lowered his hands, squinting through what had seemed so harsh a minute ago, but was only the bedroom light. When he glanced at his fingers, he found them glistening. He experimentally touched his cheeks – wet. Surprised, he sniffed hard, and started wiping the tears away. “I… I was dreaming…” It was nothing particularly new that his dreams had bled into reality, that Auron had heard him, but – since they had started living separately, it was the first time in a while that he had been woken by the man, in this state. Not only that, but – dreams like that… “It isn’t Saturday, is it?” he asked, baffled.

Auron responded patiently, “No, Demyx. It’s still Tuesday.”

“But, then, why…?” He sat up slowly, gazing down at his damp hands. Slowly, he blotted them dry against the coverlet. “I don’t understand,” he mumbled. “I only have dreams like that after seeing Lucrecia.” Auron was silent. Eventually, Demyx lifted his eyes to the man, asking with confusion, “Well – why are you here? What’s going on?”

“…I told you I would come, remember? I brought dinner again.”

Demyx stared, then blinked, remembering in a rush. “You’re right! You did, too…”

“Take your time waking up, Demyx,” Auron advised him. “I’ll go serve up the food.”

Demyx nodded distantly. Auron left, and shortly afterwards familiar noises started up in the kitchen, the clink of plates and cutlery, the rustle of take-out bags. Demyx listened for a few minutes, slowly pushing his fingers through his hair. He felt a curious disconnect after this latest nightmare, a sense of being somehow… suspended between realities. Not quite here, not quite there – not quite whole, not quite present.

“Demyx!”

Auron called to him, jerking him out of his daze, bringing his feet around to touch the floorboards. As they did so, he recalled a flash of the dream, unable to keep himself from glancing over his shoulder at the window. The blinds were drawn, just like they had been in the nightmare. If he were to – go over there now… what would he see?

“Demyx.” Auron was back in the doorway, Demyx whipping around to face him guiltily, as if he’d been caught doing something wrong.

The guilty feeling – it caught on something inside him. A jagged edge he wasn’t used to being there. His eyes were drawn down to his wrist, to the elastic band. Taking a breath, he ran two fingers over it. Then, without thinking, he snapped it sharply against his flesh.

It helped a little.

He stood, moving towards the frowning Auron. “What’s that?” he asked, staring at the band.

“It’s – an aid. To keep me grounded when I’m feeling… off,” Demyx explained, hoping that Auron wasn’t going to tell him to remove it.

“…Take it off.” _Damn._ Auron eyed it, then added, “Move it to your other wrist. It’s thin, but the rules are explicit: nothing is allowed to cover your tattoos.”

“Oh. Okay.” That, he could deal with. Demyx quickly slipped the rubber band off his tattooed wrist and onto his plain one.

“All right, then,” Auron said. “Let’s eat.”

The blond nodded faintly and trailed after him, his muscles still heavy after his nap. He hadn’t even noticed himself dozing off, and hadn’t intended to, either – his body evidently didn’t deal so well with Auron barging in and kicking him awake for a job interview painfully early in the morning.

At the kitchen counter, Demyx peered curiously at the food Auron had served up – some kind of pasta dish, it looked like. And luckily, not too creamy – Demyx didn’t think he had a whole lot of stomach for rich foods right now. He carried his plate out to where Auron was already setting up the television, sitting on the couch and starting to eat as the man searched for a decent channel. With the canned laughter of some variety show going, Auron eventually sat back and began his meal.

“So,” he asked, through a mouthful of pasta, “where’d you get that, anyway?”

It took Demyx a moment to realise that he was referring to the elastic band. He held it up for Auron to get a good look at. “This? Um – Zexion. My teacher. He’s the one who walked me home yesterday, after I… you know…”

Auron grunted slightly. “All this extra stress is getting to you,” he muttered. “This is only your second week, and already you’ve had two flashbacks.”

“That’s normal, though, right?” Demyx dully supposed. “Not a lot we can do about it.” They were quiet for a few minutes, the blond asking after a while, “Hey, Auron?” The man made an acknowledging noise, his single eye focused on the television. “Is it okay that Zexion – my teacher – came upstairs with me yesterday?”

Auron stopped what he was doing, gaze swivelling over. “…You don’t need to keep adding ‘my teacher’ to it. I know he’s your teacher. I don’t think you know a lot of ‘Zexion’s.” He considered the question. “That’s fine,” he decided, after a moment. “It’s not like bringing a girl up. And I’ve spoken to him on the phone, he seems sensible. It’s not like he’s going to take advantage of you.”

“A-advantage?” Demyx quickly echoed, unnerved by the idea. “In what way?”

“Well, I highly doubt, for example, that he’s going to claim you attacked him in order to sue ShinRa for damages,” Auron clarified, the blond feeling his heart rate normalise a little.

“Oh.” He toyed with his pasta. “You think someone would ever actually do that?”

Auron shrugged, lifting a mug of water from the ground. “It’s been done with ShinRa wards before. Once you’re on your own you’ll be able to have others over, but as long as you’re under their wing, it can’t be anyone other than trusted members of the community – like your teacher.” He took a sip and placed his cup back down. “So he came up? Were you worried?”

“I was worried it might not be okay with ShinRa,” Demyx said, slowly twirling his fork through the spaghetti, “but I didn’t think about it until we were actually up here. I was…”

“…You weren’t at your best, I’m sure.” Auron inclined his head, acknowledging the circumstances, with the faintest tightness to his features that suggested he felt responsible for not having been there for it. “It’s all right, Demyx. As long as everything was fine for you, it’s not a problem.” Demyx smiled a little, and continued eating. Auron watched his surreptitiously, then asked, “So, you feel comfortable with him? This teacher?”

“…Yeah, I guess I do,” Demyx replied, somewhat happy at the realisation. “I mean, having him up here was awkward, because I wasn’t feeling so great, but he’s – he’s nice.” He felt a hint of heat touch his cheeks, out of nowhere. “And there’s Sora, too,” he went on, suddenly anxious to move the conversation away from Zexion for some reason. “The kid you met this morning.”

Auron gave a short huff which sounded like a laugh. “Yeah. That kid was… kind of fierce, huh? I can imagine him getting all het up about you being cold.” He glanced over at Demyx’s small smile. “…I’m glad to see you’re doing well.” He said it so softly, Demyx almost didn’t catch it. But when he looked at Auron, the man’s gaze back on the TV screen, he thought that he looked – a little more relaxed than before. Auron cared. It was his job, but – that didn’t mean he didn’t actually care. Demyx was starting to realise that, though they might be few in number… he in fact had a few people he could count on to care about how he was doing. And not just because they got a wage at the end of it.

It was a nice feeling, up until he remembered that on Saturday he’d be meeting with Hojo again. Then, in one fell swoop, his good mood was gone, doused away. A chill remained in its place. _Hojo._ Now, there was a man whose wage didn’t depend on giving two shits about Demyx’s wellbeing. Not only that, but he was the sole possessor of the power to lock Demyx back up, no questions asked. He shivered slightly.

Noticing, Auron asked, “Cold?” He tugged the blanket down from the back of the couch and passed it across, Demyx wordlessly taking it and tucking it over his knees.

 All of a sudden, the blond couldn’t taste his dinner. Everything was ash in his mouth once Hojo had entered his mind. And that idea… reminded him of the nightmare.

 _What had brought that on?_ He could still – remember the guilt. His eyes were dragged to the black band around his wrist. _Someone cares about what happens to me._

… _the guilt, the **guilt…**_

“Demyx? Are you done?”

He looked down and realised that all his food was gone. He handed his empty plate to Auron, who carried it out with his own. Demyx tugged his knees up to his chin, wrapping the blanket more tightly around his thighs. He stared at the television, Auron returning to watch with him, picking his teeth, leaving only when the next two shows were finished. He urged Demyx to get a good night’s sleep, but… between the nightmares and the periods spent staring at his shuttered window, Demyx didn’t rest all that much at all.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	17. Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"Well, aren't  _you_  looking daisy-fresh?"

Axel greeted Demyx with amusement as he entered the administration office early the following morning. Demyx  _felt_  like he'd been hit by a bus.

"I didn't get a lot of sleep," he huskily said, trying to school his expression so it wouldn't look quite as dark and heavy as it felt. He didn't think walking around looking like a storm cloud would do much good for his public image.

"No kidding," Axel drawled. "And is it just me, or do your bruises look  _worse_ today?"

Demyx shot him a look, struggling to suppress his irritation. "…So how's life with half an eyebrow?" he asked, with the merest hint of petulant spite. Axel blinked, sizing him up from the other side of the desk.

"Oh, so you  _do_ have teeth, after all."

Demyx lowered his head, and, after a moment, mumbled, "Sorry. I shouldn't have –"

"That wasn't a criticism, Dem." When he lifted his gaze, he saw that Axel was – grinning. "It's good to know you're not just some mad-world mannequin with no personality."

" _That's_ what you think about me?" Demyx couldn't help but reveal a second's worth of disapproval. "Thanks a lot."

"Ah, we need to deprive you of sleep more often, kid." Axel winked. "You're a lot more fun when you're easier to tease."

Demyx rolled his eyes faintly. "I just don't know how your boyfriend manages to keep his hands off you, Axel. You're such a  _catch."_

"Hey, I  _am_ a catch, thank you," the redhead sniffed, rising from his chair. "Roxas is a  _very_ lucky boy."

Demyx snorted slightly, reaching into his bag for his timetable. Scanning it as Axel came around the desk, he murmured, "So, today I have… oh. Math first thing."

Axel sighed dramatically, snatching the creased sheet out of Demyx's hands, demanding, "How is it that you've never turned this thing over?"

He did so, thrusting it back at the blond, Demyx looking down to see – "There's – another side?"

"Did you not  _notice_ that this week has been different? The weeks alternate between A and B. Last week was B. This week is A. Only your Mondays are the same, kid. Pay attention."

So, rather than a double block of math first up, Demyx saw that he instead had science. After that, he'd have English class – that meant seeing Zexion again. He exhaled slowly. Well, he'd  _wanted_ to thank the man, and apologise for running off yesterday – here was his chance. He felt an inexplicable jolt of nervousness about it, though.

With Axel's bemused gaze upon him, Demyx nodded firmly to himself.  _Okay._ He could do this.

With the hallways gradually filling the closer it got to class time, Demyx followed Axel with an increasing recognition of his surroundings, trying hard to take note of the various turns and staircases. It was going to take a little while yet, but he was trying. He was thankful that he had Axel as a guide in the meantime, however much it was under duress from Zexion. Still, the redhead didn't seem to resent it as much as he had; while they walked, Axel made some light, casual conversation. Nothing important, but – that in itself was enough to have Demyx mumbling with a slight blush tinting his face. He hadn't had to do 'small talk' for a long time. It made him sweat slightly, trying to think of appropriate responses to keep the conversation going. He didn't want Axel to decide he wasn't worth the effort, and stop.

He was deposited at the door of the science lab, Axel tipping a quick two-fingered salute to the long-haired instructor inside, then was gone again, hurrying back to his post. Vexen was okay, as far as teachers went. Compared to Saix, he was a dream – everyone was – although Demyx did get the unsettling feeling of being  _studied_ while under the man's tutelage. His eyes held a bright sharpness that was vaguely reminiscent of Hojo. It was a relief, then, that other than that Vexen seemed to pay no special attention to Demyx. He felt like these were the teachers he appreciated the most: they didn't keep a watchful eye on him, like Paine, or torment him like Saix, or even treat him with any special kindness, like Zexion – they just went about their business, and let him come along for the ride.

As he took his seat at the front of the room, Vexen darting him a mere acknowledging glance before continuing to write the day's work up on the whiteboard, Demyx noticed that the word 'poisoned' had found his desk again. Sighing a little, he wondered if it was in every room by now. He hadn't even been here two weeks. Still, words were words. This one word scratched into his desk wasn't going to make any difference to his day. He placed his bag atop it, to block it out, and took out a book to ready himself for note-taking.

The session passed without incident. Demyx wasn't particularly strong with science, but the stuff they were studying wasn't all that different from what he already knew or distantly recalled from the last time he'd done this sort of thing. It was true that the worlds, or his own world and this one at least, had a running theme of similarities. For all their differences on the surface, there was a lot that was, at least scientifically, fundamentally the same. The laws of physics, for example – those didn't change. Chemical reactions remained the same. The basic building blocks of life were the same. It was oddly soothing, Demyx found; as destabilising as it had been to discover a whole other world beyond his own, and be thrust into it under such damning circumstances, and have to try and wrap his  _head_ around all these things that had made him feel like maybe he  _was_ insane the first couple of weeks, it was conversely comforting to know how much was familiar here. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same – right?

For the first time, rather than just sitting there numbly writing things down, he found himself absorbed in the lesson, his mind continuously linking things that he recognised from Vexen's lecture to information already idling in his head. Really, when he thought about it… he was one of the only survivors of his world. Maybe  _the_ only one, for all he knew – neither Auron nor Lucrecia had ever answered him when he'd asked, and he was still undecided as to whether that was because they didn't want to upset him by telling him he  _was_ the last, or because they didn't want him trying to contact any others that might be out there. Either way, he was at least  _one_ of the last members of his world, and that meant that he was the remnant of what was essentially an extinct species. The knowledge in his head was some of the only knowledge that  _existed_ about his world.

…Whoa. That was –  _whoa._ He hadn't really thought about it like that before. He'd been so focused on surviving, and adapting, and just getting through each day…

"Demyx? Is everything – all right?"

The room snapped back into focus. Vexen was staring at him. Demyx had, without realising, stopped taking notes and been staring off into space with his mouth half open. He sat straighter, clutching his pen more tightly, and nodded. "Yes, sir," he breathed, feeling something large but as yet unidentified welling up inside him. "Sorry. Please continue."

The man narrowed his eyes slightly – a glint of that Hojo-ish interest glinting within – but, after a pause, resumed the lesson. Demyx exhaled slowly, turning his mind back to the lecture. It wasn't easy, not now that he'd had this – this  _revelation._ But he'd have to wait to address it properly. This was the sort of thing that deserved… some serious thought.

When the lesson was finally over, Demyx packed away his things quickly, keeping an eye out for Sora. What he instead found, to his surprise, was Axel, looking the slightest bit grim. Demyx hesitated, rising slowly from his desk. The redhead slid inside the room, through the stream of hurriedly departing students, and nodded at Vexen, greeting, "Professor." He then turned his attention to Demyx, crooking a finger at him. "This way, kid. There's a meeting you need to attend."

Mouth going dry – anything unexpected making him instantly cautious, adrenaline starting a slow, preparatory seep into his system – Demyx echoed, "A meeting?"

Axel simply gestured again, a hint of impatience to it this time, before turning on heel and exiting the classroom. Demyx followed at a careful distance, on his guard. The man sent back occasional glances, a hint of frustration in his expression at Demyx's wariness, but he said nothing to reassure him. Demyx got a bad feeling about this.

They headed back to the front of the school, Axel holding the door open to the administration office. As usual, it was busy at this time of day, various adults and students occupying the chairs, while the phone rang shrilly over on Axel's desk. The man ignored all this, however; with the 'Back in 5' sign propped crookedly on the counter, Axel took Demyx by the elbow and steered him quickly through the room before the first reactions to his presence could start registering. He opened the door to Ansem's office, and, shooting Demyx a foreboding look, pushed him in. The door was shut tightly behind him.

Feeling positively breathless at the speed at which it had all occurred, it took Demyx a moment to notice who he was in the company of. He saw Ansem sitting at his desk, fingers laced together, and that was fine – but then he realised they were not alone, a flash of blue catching his attention from the corner of his eye. He twitched, the most reaction he allowed himself before clamping down on it, at the sight of Saix standing at the edge of the room.

"Demyx, thank you for coming." Ansem smiled at him, all grace and congeniality, as if Demyx had had a choice in the matter. He realised, with a quickening heartbeat, that they were the only ones in the room. He was among the enemy. He felt it down to his core. "Please," Ansem gestured to the chair opposite his desk with an elegant sweep of one hand, "take a seat."

Demyx darted a look at Saix, who gazed impassively back.  _Saix_ wasn't taking a seat. It wasn't like there weren't any available, either – Ansem's was the kind of office that had, aside from the usual seats for holding meetings, a couple of comfortable-looking leather chairs set up at the corners of the room. Maybe those were for meetings with people he actually liked. For Demyx, it was a hard, wooden arrangement, a little too low for the desk he was sitting in front of, giving Ansem a position of greater authority, and himself a feeling of inferiority.

"Excellent." Ansem's smile renewed itself as Demyx did as he was told, sinking down across from him. "Now," the man said, sitting forward and radiating sagacity, "I'm sure you're wondering why it is I called you in here, Demyx."

Trying not to glance over at Saix, the blond nodded slightly, swallowing. "Uh, yes, sir."

"Well, the fact is, there's been a complaint."

Demyx stiffened, dismay spreading slowly through his chest, reaching up to touch his features. "…Oh."

"Yes, yes, it's all very unfortunate," Ansem went on, not sounding nearly as serious about it as Demyx would have expected… up until he continued, "This is the second time now that Saix's conduct has been brought to my attention, and so I thought that you, Saix, and I should perhaps sit down and have a  _chat_ about it all."

Demyx sat still for a moment, processing this uncertainly. "…So, when you say that a complaint has been made… you don't mean about me?"

Ansem's gaze sharpened somewhat. "Not so far. Why, Demyx? Should I expect a complaint about you?"

Eyes widening, he shook his head. "No, sir! I mean, not as far as I know."

Over by the wall, Saix snorted faintly, muttering, "Sounds like a guilty conscience to me."

This time, Ansem's piercing eyes pinned Saix, a warning brimming in their depths. "…Well, then, if that's the case, let's focus on the situation at hand." The professor's smile was becoming strained already. Demyx, clutching his bag, had no idea what to expect. He was mystified by the whole meeting. He understood the reason for it, he supposed, but not exactly its  _purpose._ He hadn't thought Ansem to be one of his champions; why was this happening? What did the headmaster hope to achieve?

"Now," Ansem said again, his attention returning to Demyx, "the nature of these complaints is that you have been somehow  _mistreated_ while within our school, Demyx. Is this an opinion you share? Do you feel that Saix has been overly harsh with you?"

Demyx blinked, palms beginning to sweat. He didn't dare look over at the blue-haired man. His lips twitched slightly, the agreement lurking behind them but the courage to say it out loud in front of the perpetrator himself shrivelling fast. "Uhm…"

"Any misconduct by our staff towards students, regardless of their backgrounds or circumstances, is treated with the utmost seriousness," Ansem went on, holding Demyx's gaze mercilessly. He was starting to think that he suspected the purpose of this meeting, after all. "If you feel you have been unfairly treated in any way at all, Demyx, I  _implore_ you to speak up, so that we might resolve this."

Demyx was accustomed to having eyes upon him, in their tens, their dozens, but somehow, the gazes from just these two men was making him feel more exposed than he had in a long time. When he still couldn't muster the ability to speak, it was Saix who broke in, saying in his measured, quiet way, "Professor, perhaps the reason that our mad-world student cannot find the words to say suggests that the accounts about me have been exaggerated."  _Now_ Demyx looked over, frustration flitting across his features before being neatly suppressed. Saix stared back, utterly unrepentant. "I maintain my position that I have done nothing out of the ordinary. It simply appears that our newest  _student,"_ he couldn't quite help the faint sneer of emphasis on that word, Demyx shrinking into himself, "has been put into the care of two bleeding hearts who would protect him from even the beating of a butterfly's wings."

 _Two bleeding hearts…?_  That had to be Sora and Riku. Demyx felt his heart thump a little, a flush touching his neck. They… they had complained for him. They cared that he'd been singled out.

"Saix." Ansem's tone held an element of scolding, though it seemed pretty obvious to Demyx now that it was all basically for show. "It's no  _wonder_ complaints are being made. I'm quite sure the official standpoint of the ShinRa handout that was provided was that Demyx is to be referred to as a 'new-worlder'. None of this 'mad-worlder' labelling, please."

Saix's eyes glittered, but other than that, he remained perfectly neutral as he responded, "Yes, Professor Ansem. My apologies, I'm sure."

Turning to Demyx, Ansem said, "As you can see, we are doing our best to adhere to the guidelines set for us by ShinRa. We certainly would hate for them to believe that we are not acting in your interests. My hope for us here this morning is that we can clear the air, and start fresh."

 _Ah._ And there it was: the purpose. Ansem didn't want any of this being reported back to ShinRa. It had seemed  _way_ too weird that he appeared to suddenly actually give a damn how Demyx was treated – but if it meant, say, having to deal with an irate Auron… or even worse, a disapproving Hojo… well, in that light, it all made sense now. Demyx supposed that he wouldn't have to handle that, either. Much easier to corner the mad-worlder in his office, one on one – or two on one, as it were – and make sure it didn't get to that point.

Gaining a little nerve from this revelation, Demyx asked suddenly, "And how do we do that?" The instant it was out of his mouth, he felt his insides shudder.  _Whoops._ Had he meant to say that out loud? The looks the two men were giving him suggested that he maybe shouldn't have. Still, if they wanted peace,  _he_  wasn't going to be the one to cower out of here. Although his daring slightly terrified him, Demyx sealed his lips shut so as not to mutter an apology, and did his damndest to hold Ansem's shrewd gaze.

Sizing him up afresh, Ansem was silent for a moment. "Well, I suppose that is the question, isn't it? Not that Saix has done anything particularly reprehensible, if we're to be perfectly honest with ourselves." He was losing his affability, shifting away from the act. It was beginning to feel less like a meeting and more rapidly like some kind of standoff. Demyx forced himself to stay strong. "From what he has told me, the latest complaint is based purely on the fact that you were late to class, and then collapsed during some perfectly reasonable penalty laps. That  _is_ how we operate, Demyx; the teacher in question is allowed to command some form of minor punishment if a student is tardy. It's hardly Saix's fault if you had a fainting spell."

Demyx didn't disagree with that, actually. It  _wasn't_ Saix's fault that he'd collapsed. Saix had no idea that the running had triggered a flashback for him. He didn't intend for the man to  _ever_ find out – who knew what horrors he would deliberately visit upon Demyx if he  _knew_ the effect it was having. But he didn't appreciate Ansem's about-face now that he realised Demyx wasn't as scared anymore. He drew a slow, fortifying breath.

"But, you see, Professor, I had a note from Zexion excusing my lateness."

"It was signed fifteen minutes prior to Demyx's appearance," Saix interjected, a hint of waspishness touching his words. "He had clearly been wasting time between Zexion signing the tardy slip and his  _eventual_ stroll onto the field."

"I went to the basketball courts first, sir," Demyx determinedly explained. "I'm still too new, I had forgotten that it wasn't going to be dodgeball again. It took me that long to get changed and find out that the gym was empty, and I  _jogged_ to the field once I remembered. So if there's anything to complain about, it was that I didn't deserve to be punished."  _Shit._ He was being daring again. He stopped speaking abruptly, waiting to see what developed next.

Ansem frowned. "…Well, perhaps the truth lies somewhere between the two. It's difficult, you see, when I have a teacher saying one thing, and a student saying another." He thought for a moment, glancing over at Saix. "But, in the end, I'm sure we can come to an agreement, of sorts. Saix was perhaps mistaken about you, Demyx. And you were perhaps a little slower than you ought to have been, and then unfortunately collapsed, due to circumstances out of anyone's control. Which would mean, I suppose, that we have ultimately little to discuss. Saix," he addressed the silent man, "it is my advice in future that you are somewhat more… forgiving if a student arrives late with a tardy slip. Perhaps if their lateness is  _extraordinary_ you could consider a penalty, but in Demyx's case, a little…  _leniency_ may be required." To Demyx, he added, "This is by no means an invitation for you to take advantage, of course. If you develop a habit of being late to class, it  _will_ be reported to your handlers."

"And I guess if Saix keeps getting complained about," Demyx replied quietly, "that would have to get reported, as well."

His heart was nearly thundering. It was like he was channelling Zexion, for crying out loud. But… it was effective. Ansem regarded him with narrowed eyes before simply nodding. "Yes, that seems likely. Therefore, the most… mutually beneficial arrangement would be one in which neither party needs to be brought to ShinRa's attention. Saix? Are you in agreement?"

Demyx at last turned to look straight at the man. Saix's face was a mask. "Of course, Professor. Whatever best serves the academy."

Ansem was smiling again, though this time its artificiality shone blatantly through. "Well, then. It would appear we understand one another clearly enough for now. Demyx, are  _you_ in agreement with this?"

Demyx hesitated just slightly. "Well, I was never the one to make the complaint in the first place," he carefully pointed out. "So really, as long as Saix doesn't  _do_ anything…"

"Am I expected to simply let him act as he wishes?" Saix demanded.

Ansem swiftly held up a hand, silencing him, the man lapsing into seething silence. "…I'm sure," Ansem said firmly, "that Saix will refrain in future from behaviour that…  _inspires_ your fellow students to leap to your defence. But do make sure you are an exemplary student at all times, Demyx. Saix has the option of coming to me if he feels you are taking advantage of his… newfound tolerance. And I will have no compunction in contacting your guardian."

Demyx nodded. "Yes, sir." He had no intention of deliberately antagonising Saix. He'd never tried to in the first place. Even Ansem had to be aware of it. Glancing between them, he asked, "So – can I go?"

Ansem pursed his lips slightly, but sat back, waving a hand dismissively. "Yes, Demyx. You may go. Thank you for attending."

Demyx didn't release the enormous breath that was gathering in his chest until he had left the room and shut the door behind him. It left him in a rush, his shoulders sagging, heart still pounding. He could hardly believe he'd got through an ambush meeting okay – not only okay, but almost with the upper hand. He looked over to where Axel was stuck behind his desk, the redhead brightening at the sight of him, hopping up from his chair and announcing to those gathered before him, "My apologies, ladies and gents! My services are required as an escort for one of our esteemed students."

When they turned to glance at him, they quickly scattered to let Axel through, though Demyx was pretty sure there were fewer of them in the room now than when he had first arrived. Axel took hold of his elbow and guided him from the waiting room into the hallway. "Um," he ventured, as the man closed the door on the startled faces, "am I scaring away your, uh – customers?"

"Bless you," Axel answered, "yes. I will never stop being grateful." He glanced at his wristwatch. "Okay, you're twenty minutes late at this point. We should probably hurry it up, or Zexion will blame  _me."_

Demyx, already feeling somewhat windswept by the way the morning had progressed thus far, felt a stab of unanticipated nervousness. He'd known that he was going to be seeing Zexion again today, but… all of a sudden, he didn't feel ready yet. Zexion had reached something in him yesterday. He wasn't sure if the sight of the man was going to – bring that back up. It wasn't actually something he was eager to experience again.

Ugh. This was… tricky.

But, then again, it wasn't like he really had a choice in the matter.

Axel peered over at him, the two of them walking while Demyx was busy experiencing these jitters. He reached across and knocked his knuckles lightly against the blond's head, making him blink in surprise. "Hello, hello, is Demyx around? Can he come out and play?"

Demyx straightened his hat uneasily. "Sorry. Were you saying something?"

"I was  _wondering_ how the meeting went," Axel said, sounding like it was maybe the third time he'd repeated it, judging by the air of exasperation in his tone.

"Oh – all right, I think. I'm not in trouble."

"Uh, should you be? I thought this was meant to be about Saix getting complained about."

Demyx shrugged slightly, said, "Well…" and, as they rounded a corner, slammed straight into a yellow-clad girl carrying an armful of books.

There was a series of startled noises, from Demyx, from the girl, from Axel, accompanied by the scattered thump of the books hitting the ground. "Oh, no!" the girl cried, as loose pages spun out from inside a folder, littering the hallway. Then, as she lifted her gaze to the two men, perhaps to apologise, perhaps to level accusations of carelessness, she stopped abruptly. Her eyes widened almost comically as they took in the sight of Demyx. Whatever was poised on the tip of her tongue withered away into a frightened squeak. For a long, frozen moment, nobody moved. Then, with a flash of motion, the girl turned on heel and fled, abandoning the books.

Axel clicked his tongue with irritation as she vanished around the far corner. "Don't mind us," he called after her, "we weren't  _walking_ or anything." He raised his voice a little further.  _"Look where you're going next time!"_

"I don't think she can hear you anymore," Demyx muttered. He stared down at the mess of books and papers, feeling a little heavy inside.

Axel was dismissive. "Forget about her. These kids are mostly dumbasses anyway. You'll be out of this hole before you know it." He added glumly, "Unlike some of us." He tilted his head, said, "Come on," and took a couple of steps. When he realised that Demyx wasn't beside him, he paused and glanced back. "Demyx?"

The blond had lowered to his knees and was carefully gathering the spilled books and papers together into a neat pile.

"Ahh, come on, Demyx," Axel complained, "you don't need to do that.  _She_ was the one who ran into  _us._ And then she bolted!"

"Maybe we ran into her," Demyx softly suggested. "And anyway, we can't just leave it here, people might step all over her stuff. You can't blame her for getting scared. They don't usually have to face me one-on-one like that."

"And what the hell am I, chopped chocobo liver?"

Demyx darted him a deliberately patient look. Axel huffed out a breath, but nevertheless stepped closer, nudging a book with his foot towards the pile. Demyx picked it up and placed it with the others. It took a little longer to collect all the papers, but eventually he had arranged it all into a tidy stack. He glanced around. "Should I just – leave it here? Do you know who that girl was?"

"What, like I know every face in the damned school? No, I don't know who she was." Axel scowled, then gestured for the pile. "Oh, give it here. I'll ask Roxas and Sora. Maybe they'll recognise a description of her."

Demyx smiled, passing the books over. "Thanks, Axel."

"Yeah, yeah. Can we go? I don't feel like being accused by Ansem of 'taking unnecessary detours to prolong a task into a break'." He imitated the headmaster almost perfectly, a quick grin flashing over Demyx's face. He was sure Axel had heard that line  _many_ times.

Obligingly, he pushed back up to his feet, brushing off his knees, and together they continued on to the classroom. The thick hush of the halls was a comfort to Demyx, walking through them a much easier affair when he could be sure that the majority of the student body was securely behind closed doors. Then they arrived outside Zexion's classroom to the muffled sound of the man's voice coming through the door, and that faint sense of ease was gone in an instant. He darted Axel a quick look, but the redhead didn't notice his hesitation, knocking on the door. Zexion's lecturing voice paused, the door opening a moment later. He blinked out at Axel and Demyx, the red-haired man clapping a hand on Demyx's bared shoulder and announcing, "A delivery for you."

Zexion's eyes narrowed. "…What took you so long?" Demyx's heart jolted a little at the accusation in his tone, but it was directed at Axel, just like Axel had suspected it would.

"Yeah, yeah. Take it up with Ansem and Saix, if you've got a problem. Not  _my_ fault the kid is late." Thoroughly unperturbed by Zexion's glare, in stark contrast to his earlier attitude, Axel merely rolled his eyes and turned around, sauntering off once again, leaving Demyx standing awkwardly in place.

Zexion's gaze, which had sharpened that bit more at the mention of Ansem and Saix, at last softened as it touched upon Demyx. "…Let's talk after class, all right? Can we?"

Demyx wordlessly nodded. The man stepped back to let him enter the room, Demyx feeling the familiar weight of eyes upon him, the tension in the room rising almost palpably. He wondered if the students had thought he wasn't coming to class today, and how relieved that must have made them. The silence was almost a living entity, pregnant with negative feeling that lanced Demyx like a spearhead. He slid into his desk wishing he could maybe curl up and disappear, skin prickling, only for the pressure in the air to be abruptly broken apart by Zexion slamming the whiteboard with an oversized, wooden ruler. Everyone, Demyx included, jumped a mile in their skin.

"All right, seniors. That's enough slacking for now." It was said calmly, but contained an element of warning. Zexion wasn't letting anyone dwell on Demyx's arrival. With that attitude, he kept the class going as if they'd never been interrupted, the students soon back to hurriedly taking notes as the man continued his lecture. Demyx hastened to join them, his books out and pen scribbling.

As Zexion's voice droned on, delivering information with the occasional rebuke to those that whispered or didn't appear to be copying it down fast enough, Demyx felt his tension fade a little. Despite his apprehension in encountering the man again, he found that of the few things he'd encountered this morning that soothed him, in amidst all the things that made him so uptight, Zexion's voice was definitely the most effective. Demyx almost felt… safe when he was about. Kind of like he did with Auron. Still with little fragments of anxiety clinging on, but – even so, he couldn't help the gradual relaxation of tight muscles and tighter nerves.

One day he'd need to tell Zexion that he had this effect on him. It would probably make him happy to know it.

But just… maybe not today.


	18. Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Classes gave way to lunch with a clamour of bells throughout the school.

Demyx remained in his seat, packing away his things while Zexion barked out homework instructions to the fleeing collection of students. As tended to happen when Demyx was in a lesson, the room cleared out swiftly. Soon, it was only the blond and Zexion left, the classroom containing a sudden hush in the wake of the rapid departure of so many souls.

Zexion puffed out a sigh, scowling after them disapprovingly. "Foolish children," he muttered. The expression shifted into something gentler as he turned his attention to Demyx. Now that they were alone, Demyx felt abruptly, inexplicably shy. There were so many things he'd intended to say to Zexion once the chance came along, but now that it had arrived, he found himself tongue-tied. He didn't know where to start.

Zexion took the initiative from him, unaware of the struggle that the blond was undergoing. Capping the marker he'd been using to write on the whiteboard, he placed it down and perched himself on the corner of his desk, facing Demyx with folded arms. "Is everything all right with you?" When Demyx lifted his gaze from his twisted-together fingers, he saw a serious frown on the man's face. "When you didn't come to class, I was worried. I was planning to call your guardian during the lunch break. Why were you late?"

"Um…" Demyx was reluctant to share. Given Zexion's tendency to, uh, explode on Demyx's behalf at anything that happened to single him out, he couldn't imagine it going super well if he knew that Ansem had sort of tried to silence him about Saix's harassment. Sure, it had worked more or less in Demyx's favour, but the fact remained that it had been kind of a sneaky thing to do. Ansem just didn't want ShinRa breathing down his neck. Demyx opted for evasiveness. "There was… a thing I had to do."

Zexion's eyes narrowed. "A 'thing'."

"Oh, uh, it was all above board," the blond earnestly hastened to clarify. "I wasn't just out wandering or anything."

Zexion rubbed two fingers against the bridge of his nose, exasperated. "I don't doubt that, Demyx. I wasn't checking up on you – I just want to know if you're  _okay."_ He hesitated. "After yesterday, I can't help but feel that perhaps I… upset you somehow."

Demyx blinked, stunned. Then, suddenly enough to make Zexion jump, he burst out,  _"No, you didn't at all!"_ He hitched in a tiny breath and nipped his lips, apologising very quietly a second later, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to raise my voice."

Zexion shook his head in consternation, reaching a hand over towards him. "No, don't be sorry. I'm glad you feel that way. I was sure that I had…"

"Demyx?" They both jolted slightly, looking over as Sora leaned into the classroom, glancing between them. "Uh – bad time?"

"Oh – Sora." Zexion straightened, his hand withdrawing. "Forgive me, I forgot you were coming. You're here to take Demyx to lunch, I take it?"

"I can come back later," the kid offered. "You guys seem like you're having a discussion there."

As Zexion began to shake his head, Demyx cut in, "Actually, yeah – sorry, Sora. Thanks. I'll see you next time, okay?" When Zexion looked surprised, he meekly added, "That is, if you don't mind? If you've got something else to do…"

"No, not at all." Blinking, Zexion turned to Sora. "In that case, I'll show Demyx to his next class after lunch. You go and enjoy yourself."

Sora easily saluted. "You're the boss. Catch you later, Demyx."

"Yeah." As the boy left, Demyx was struck by a sudden thought, popping up to his feet and crossing to the door in several long paces. Gripping the doorframe, he called out,  _"Sora!"_ The boy, partway down the passage, halted and turned curiously. Demyx drew a breath. "Thanks. For everything."

The kid tilted his head quizzically. "That's okay. The school asked me to do this, you know."

Demyx shook his head. "No, not that – Saix. You and Riku…"

Sora's expression cleared. He smiled, shrugging puffy shoulders. "Oh, that. No problem, Dem. Just doin' our civic duty." He gave Demyx a grin and a wave, then continued on.

When Demyx returned into the room, he found Zexion eyeing him, arms once again folded. "So they complained after all, then," he surmised. "Good."

Demyx scratched his head through his hat, the bashful feeling coming over him again, different this time, connected to the idea of having people sticking up for him. His voice was soft as he confirmed, "Yeah, they complained."

"And?" Zexion prompted. "What became of it? Something must have happened, for you to want to thank Sora."

He faltered. Aw, hell. He'd just wanted to express some appreciation for the support before Sora got away. He hadn't thought this far ahead. Mouth twisting, Demyx's mind raced. "Well," he answered carefully, "I got called in to see Ansem – that's why I was late – and it's been agreed that Saix will stop targeting me. Ansem can't really argue when he's been complained about twice now."

This seemed to do the trick. He should have thought of the simplification route in the first place. Zexion looked pleased. "Really, now? That's excellent news. For it to have gained the headmaster's attention means that Saix will have to maintain a professional distance from you." He nodded to himself. "Sora and Riku did well. I'll have to commend them later."

Demyx gave a crooked smile. "I keep forgetting that you guys all know each other out of school. What do you do, have nightly meetings about the day's events or something?"

Zexion chuckled. "We text. I have the boys' phone numbers. I've been…" He fell silent, like he'd been about to say something he wasn't supposed to. Demyx arched an eyebrow, lips pursing.

"You've been…? What, asking them about me? That's okay."

Zexion inhaled, pushing a hand through his hair, then inclined his head. "Yes. I was going to say that I've been keeping an eye on you through them. But after our conversation on Monday, with you… disliking the way I interfere with your life… I thought perhaps it would annoy you to hear it. Please understand," he went on, "that I'm not monitoring you – this is purely for your own good…" He trailed off. It seemed that he no longer knew what was appropriate or not, since Demyx had expressed his frustration the other day.

Demyx hung his head, feeling awkward. "Look… about that…" He hesitated, unsure how to proceed.

Zexion glanced at his wristwatch. "Demyx, I don't mean to be rude, but – can we continue this over lunch? I'm famished, and this is the only time I've got."

Head rising, Demyx gaped for a moment, then started moving into a full retreat. Hands coming up, he blurted, "Oh, jeeze, I'm sorry! I'm being a nuisance, taking up your time. We can do this another –"

" _Demyx."_ Zexion stopped him before he could get too carried away. "It's fine. You're not a nuisance at all. I just need to eat. We can eat and talk. If I wasn't capable of that much, I wouldn't have agreed to it."

Demyx eyed him uncertainly. "You're sure? Because you can absolutely say –"

"I know," the man firmly said. "If it was a problem, I would let you know. But it's not; it's just lunch."

Doubtful, Demyx nevertheless allowed himself to be persuaded. "…All right."

Zexion jerked his head towards the door. "Come with me, then. You're okay with my office again, aren't you? It has the added bonus of some privacy."

Demyx swallowed, not entirely keen on returning to that claustrophobic, removed little space, but nodding anyway. He wasn't about to make a fuss when Zexion was deliberately taking time out of his break to talk to him. The man had been more than happy to let him leave – it was Demyx who'd insisted they do this now. If the cost of that was a room that tested his comfort zone, then so be it. At least he knew that Zexion was a safe person to be around.

With a deep breath, he grabbed his satchel and followed Zexion out of the classroom. They retraced yesterday's steps to the corner of the school where Zexion's office resided. It was just as tiny and cramped as Demyx recalled, squeezing into the chair beside the desk, next to a particularly precarious tower of books. Zexion settled on the other side, pulling a backpack up from the floor and unzipping it. From an insulated bag he brought out a wrapped sandwich, and began the task of removing the sandwich from its filmy prison. As he did, he glanced briefly at Demyx. "Well, then – what were you going to say earlier?"

Nervously, Demyx drummed his fingertips against the edge of the desk. After all this build-up, it was feeling more and more like a big deal.  _Relax. It's just a conversation._ "I, uh – I wanted to apologise, actually. And thank you," he added, as Zexion frowned across the desk at him. His fingers paused in their sandwich liberating motions.

"Why apologise?"

Demyx glanced away. "Well, you've been nothing but nice to me, and you've been trying to – to protect me, but then I went and reacted pretty…" The word 'negatively' was on the tip of his tongue, but he wasn't allowed to be negative. "I've been difficult whenever you've tried to help me," he revised, "and I've been feeling bad about that, because you're just being kind."

Zexion gave him a look of displeased comprehension. "Demyx, no, look – you were well within your rights to grow frustrated with me. I was being obtuse. It's all very well for me to storm about calling people deplorable idiots for alienating you, but you're the one who has to live with it. I still think you are entitled, obviously, to basic respect – nothing is going to change my opinion on that – but I understand that you're doing your best to keep your head down and assimilate. Me charging in and blustering about isn't going to make that easier – and really, in the end, that's all I want: to make things easier for you, somehow. As easy as they can be, at any rate."

Earnestly, Demyx argued, "But all you were trying to do was –"

"What I was  _trying_ to do," Zexion cut him off, "was satisfy my own emotions on the matter, without considering yours.  _That_ is the vital thing here – how  _you_ feel about it all. My own feelings diminish very much into the background compared to how each day impacts on  _you._ And I'll defend you if I have to, if you're unable to defend yourself, but I won't be so selfish again as to go directly against your wishes. I promise you." When Demyx stared at him, lost for words, Zexion gave a sheepish smile. "I, er, went home and had a good, long think about it all, if that isn't obvious already." Sandwich unwrapped, he offered half of it across the desk. "Want to share?" Demyx's blank gaze lowered to the sandwich. "It's chicken salad," Zexion added, as if to tempt him.

Demyx's expression closed up a little. "Ah – thanks, but… I can't eat meat."

"Oh. All right, then." Zexion withdrew the sandwich half, took a bite of it himself. As he chewed, he started to frown anew. "When you say  _'can't'…"_

Not wanting to get into that topic – really,  _really_ not wanting to think about  _that_  – Demyx said quickly, "I also wanted to thank you. The apology was only half of what I was going to say." He lifted his wrist, the one with the black elastic around it. "This – this is really great. I left kind of… suddenly yesterday, so I wanted to say sorry for that, too – but mostly, I just want to thank you properly." He smiled, the first uncomplicated smile he'd really given the man – warm, for once, instead of just nervous, gaze direct instead averted. It felt nice on his face, like a fond, lost memory. "It means a lot that you're thinking about me, Zexion. You're the first person to want to help me this much, just because you can."

It was Zexion's turn to stare. His chewing slowed for a moment, then he apparently tried to swallow without having broken it up enough. He choked briefly, then forced it down. From his bag he grabbed a bottle of water, taking a few gulps to aid the descent of the difficult mouthful. At long last, he took a breath. "Excuse me," he muttered, sounding hoarse from the struggle. He cleared his throat, placing the sandwich carefully on the desk. Then, he said, "You're welcome. I, ah, didn't do it for thanks."

Demyx shook his head, the smile persisting. "I know. That's why I'm so grateful. You're just being – you. And you're obviously a very kind person."

Now, Zexion looked off to the side, towards the window which was mostly blocked off by piles of books and thick curtains. He appeared flustered. "Well – thank you. That's… very kind of you to say. I'm glad you think so."

Demyx couldn't help but giggle a little at the embarrassment he was showing, Zexion evidently not knowing how to take the compliment. When the man then gave a small laugh of his own, Demyx went quiet. His smile faded slightly. Spending time alone with Zexion was calming, and pleasant, and that… made him think about the – the dark things. It was like it was conditioned, now, to rise up when he was in Zexion's presence; as if it sparked to life the second he let his guard down.

It started out as a whisper, a single finger of coldness that stroked its way down his insides. From there, it became a murmur at the back of his head, picking at his thoughts, plucking at them, making him resonate with this… profound, terrible sorrow. It had spent all these weeks buried under an iron plate of survival, trapped in darkness; the instant there was a glimmer of light, it… illuminated the beginnings of this awful feeling. This sadness.

This… gut-wrenching guilt.

…No. He couldn't do this again – he couldn't run away from Zexion's office all over again, an exact replay of yesterday.  _No._ He was going to… stick this out. Taking a deep breath, Demyx forced down what he could, and did his best to pretend that the rest of it wasn't there. He dropped his hands below the desk, between his knees, and started fingering the elastic band around his wrist. He met Zexion's gaze – a hint of uncertainty in it, as if he'd been watching the change take place in Demyx, as hard as he'd tried to keep it hidden – and brightened his smile back to its former glory. "So – good sandwich?"

Zexion studied him. "I suppose so." He looked like he was trying to figure Demyx out, this shift that had occurred but was being rapidly covered up.

Trying to keep him distracted, Demyx asked, "Did your girlfriend make it for you?"

Zexion answered, "No. I haven't got a girlfriend."

"Really? Too bad. I hear they're great. Not for me, though, I guess, I am  _gay,_ but Sora and Riku told me that I shouldn't get beat up for that here. I mean, with my arm the way it is and all, people don't even  _need_ to be homophobic to want to beat me up!" Demyx was babbling. He could hear it, Zexion could hear it. He was probably going to want to die of mortification later. But he couldn't stop. "Then again, if the gay people around here are like Roxas and Axel, I'm not surprised they don't get beaten up. I mean, can you imagine trying to take those guys on? They'd tear you a new one!" He paused for air, Zexion about to say something into the break, Demyx heading him off with, "Did I mention that ShinRa is forcing me to get a job?"

Zexion stopped abruptly. He then blurted,  _"What?"_

Demyx felt a thrill of triumph.  _Mission accomplished!_

"That is the most  _ridiculous thing_ I've ever heard!" Zexion continued, visibly agitated by the news. "What about your guardian, Sir Auron? Can't he say anything? Has he  _tried?"_

"He did," Demyx reassured him. "That's why he couldn't come and get me on Monday, he was at Sector Zero trying to convince them not to do it." He shrugged a little, more lightly than he actually felt on the topic ordinarily, but currently more than happy to have something taking the focus away from his immediate emotional complexities. "They insisted. Now, I have to go and see the head doctor, Hojo, at the mental hospital on Saturday to make sure I'm ready for it, and he  _terrifies_ me, I think he'd love it if I went crazy and attacked some people just so he could lock me up and study me longer."

Horrified, Zexion uttered, "Demyx…!"

Noticing that he had all but abandoned his lunch, the blond reminded him, "Hey, don't forget about your sandwich."

Zexion looked down at it like it was a creature from another planet that had crawled onto his desk and expired. Slowly, he returned his gaze to the blond, looking almost dazed by the barrage of the last few minutes. Had it not been the one emotion he was frantically avoiding, Demyx might have felt guilty about it.

At length, Zexion asked, "Is there – no one who could change their minds? Is there nobody with an ounce of  _sense,_ who also has some sort of… power of veto?"

Demyx shook his head. "The only one would be Hojo. I mean,  _maybe_ Lucrecia would have some say,  _maybe,_ but I'm not even seeing her on Saturday like I was meant to, and the next time I see her would be…" He trailed off, thinking hard. Something about that wasn't quite right. When was the next time he was supposed to see Lucrecia again…? Abruptly, he asked, "What day is it?"

Mildly baffled by the sudden change in topic, Zexion answered, "Wednesday."

Demyx mumbled, "Wednesday…" Why was that sticking in his mind? He stared at his hands, as if there might be answers hidden in the whorls of his tattoos, the lines of his open palms. "Wed… Wednesday…" It suddenly hit home. Head snapping up, he exclaimed,  _"Holy…!"_ When Zexion's eyebrows rose, he quickly bit down on the expletive that nearly burst out. "I – I just remembered: I have an appointment with Lucrecia  _today."_  He hooked his hands over his head, startled by the fact that he'd forgotten until now. "Between getting beaten up and everything that's happened so far this week, it completely slipped my mind!" He thought rapidly. "Auron will be coming to get me after school. I need to make sure I'm not late out the gates…" He met Zexion's gaze with shining eyes. "But this could be my chance! I can ask Lucrecia today, see if she can somehow change things for me!"

"That's wonderful, Demyx," the man enthused, leaning eagerly forwards. "Do you think she'll be able to make a difference?"

Demyx hesitated, some of his abrupt surge of energy dimming. "I don't know. I guess I'll find out."

Truthfully, when he actually paused to consider it… he couldn't imagine Lucrecia making much of a difference. She was his therapist; she hadn't even had the authority to allow him to wear sweaters with the arm cut off on her own. But at least Zexion's attention had been diverted by this, and Demyx didn't have to think about anything else when he was talking about ShinRa.

"Well, perhaps I can back you up," Zexion suggested. "I could act as a reference – say on your behalf how I think your energies are better spent on your studies, that sort of thing."

Demyx held back a small laugh. The absolute seriousness of his declaration was almost pitiable, but it was well-intentioned. Said like a man who had no idea how the ShinRa machine worked. He cleared his throat. "I – I'll see. I'll see what Lucrecia has to say about it all."

Zexion nodded, satisfied enough with this, and resumed eating his sandwich, appetite evidently returning. "Do," he urged, "and let me know how it goes."

The rest of the lunch period was spent discussing tactics, with Zexion sporting a vastly swollen sense of confidence in his ability to intervene on Demyx's behalf, as if he felt that all the blond needed was a champion among the people for ShinRa to start paying attention. Demyx… played along. It was an easy distraction. Eventually, however, with his sandwich gone, Zexion asked dubiously, "Are you sure you're all right not eating anything? Sora mentioned that you were disinclined to eat, but surely you're hungry. There might still be time to get something from the cafeteria…" He checked his watch.

Demyx shook his head. "Uh, thanks, but no. I'm not hungry at all, and I'd – prefer to avoid a crowd like that, anyway."

Zexion released a sigh, small but frustrated. At the same time, he looked… irritably sympathetic, if that was an actual thing. Demyx wasn't sure he'd seen an emotion like it before; _s_ till, Zexion somehow managed. All he said, though, was, "All right, then. If that's what you want." He was restraining himself. And, once again, he was doing it for Demyx.

Demyx felt a throb inside, first in his chest, then his stomach – unpleasant. He couldn't help but massage the spot on his chest where it had occurred, discomfort showing on his features before he could stop it. He smoothed it out quickly, but not fast enough to keep Zexion from noticing. Resting his cheek on his fist, he watched Demyx closely.

"…You know, Demyx." The softness of his tone cut through Demyx like a knife, the blond flinching at the sound of it. "If there's anything you ever want to talk about, I'm here for you. I'm an ally, and I'd like to be a friend. So, please… with me, in this office, at least… you don't have to act."

Demyx felt a tremor go through him – not outwardly, but inwardly, like a drop of water hitting a still pool.

Beneath the surface of that pool there lay monsters.

He smiled brightly. "That's really nice of you, Zexion. Thanks!"

The man eyed him, the faintest shadow of disappointment touching his expression. After a pause, he returned Demyx's smile tightly. "You're welcome. Just… keep it in mind."

With this undercurrent of awkwardness, their lunch together, such as it was, came to an end. Zexion dutifully walked Demyx to his next class, which they both noted, with grimness, was gym. Saix's new boundaries were going to be put to the test entirely too quickly.

Zexion escorted him as far as the locker room, seeming to do his best to ignore the looks Demyx received from the other students, muted by their teacher's presence but nonetheless ever-present. Stopping Demyx with a hand on his arm, the man waited until the last few boys had gone through the doorway, then said with quiet gravity, "Don't let Saix intimidate you. He should back off if Ansem is paying attention, but he may also… be feeling vindictive." This last part was grated out with great effort, as though it pained him to have to admit that a member of staff could stoop so low. "Stick close to Sora and Riku."

As if on cue, the two teens appeared behind him, Sora asking, "Did I hear my name? Everyone knows I appear if you say my name three times and spin around in a circle. Did you do it right, Zexy?"

Demyx watched the man hold back an eye-roll. Releasing Demyx's arm, he turned to them. "Make sure you're looking out for Demyx this afternoon."

Riku nodded. "We will." He projected a calm confidence that had Demyx feeling the slightest bit more secure about having to go in front of Saix again so soon after his reprimand. Not that Sora wasn't also a comfort, but his energy was a little more… out there.

The kid nodded fiercely. "You got it, Zexy! Anyone goes after Dem, I'll throw my house keys at them. And I have a  _bunch_ of keys on that keyring, I bet it'd  _hurt."_

Zexion looked like he wanted to start massaging his brow, but instead he just sent Sora a somewhat bewildered smile and responded, "…That's good, Sora. Thank you." He gave Demyx a final, somewhat more weary smile. "You take care of yourself. Good luck – with everything," he added, with a meaningful look.

Demyx lowered his eyes and nodded. "Yeah," he said, tone light but gaze heavy, staring at the ground. "Thanks, Zexion."

He heard, once again, the slightest of sighs… and then Zexion was gone, his steps taking him down the hall and out through the gymnasium's double doors. As they swung shut with a thump, Sora lifted his brows, pursing his lips and asking, "Is it just me, or was there  _tension_ there for a moment?" When Demyx didn't respond, a wicked glint entered his blue eyes, splitting his face into a grin as he added, "Or maybe –  _sexual_ tension?" As Demyx gulped and wrenched his head up, protests choked, cheeks blazing, Riku casually reached out and smacked Sora across the back of the head.

Clutching his hat, the boy whined, "Ow! That was harder than necessary."

"I did it for Demyx," Riku answered reasonably. "It's not like  _he_  can hit you. I had to make it count."

Demyx felt a shaky smile twitching at his mouth. A queer sense of relief was falling over him now that Zexion was gone. He had spent all that energy waiting to talk to the man, but now that he  _had_  he kind of… wanted very little to do with him again. It was just becoming too  _hard._ If every time he came face to face with Zexion he then had to encounter that – that warm, natural concern for his welfare, he was going to crack. He didn't have… the capacity to deal with such direct kindness right now. It wasn't like Sora and Riku  _weren't_ kind, it was just… their focus was more scattered. When Demyx was around Zexion, the feeling was completely different, like he was the  _entire_ focus, like he was  _pinned_ by all that good will and calm sense. And Demyx couldn't… handle that. Not – not yet, at any rate.

By the time he could, he was probably going to be long out of this place. It was kind of a pity, really. Zexion wanted so much to be there for him, but Demyx… didn't. Or, more specifically, Demyx didn't want what it stirred up in him. He just… he  _couldn't._

He drew a breath, looking over at Riku and Sora as they playfully bickered while waiting for him to pull himself together. "I'm – I'm ready," he ventured, the two teens turning towards him immediately, Sora breaking out into another grin, a less lecherous one this time, the joke apparently dropped, but no less nefarious.

"All right, then," he announced, gleefully. "In that case, let's get changed and go see what a collared Saix looks like!"


	19. Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The great outdoors was also the freaking freezing outdoors. Demyx made his way to the athletics track with Sora and Riku, the three of them walking quickly to keep up with the equally swiftly-walking rest of their class. It was kind of funny, in a way – the other seniors were moving fast to keep a distance between themselves and Demyx; Demyx, Sora and Riku subsequently had to do their best to keep up so Saix couldn't accuse them of dragging their feet. The end result was the entire class sort of… power-walking to the track, Saix arching a fine eyebrow at the approaching flock of hurrying teenagers.

Demyx couldn't crack a smile, though. He was too busy trying not to shiver hard enough to make his bones to rattle apart. An especially cold wind had snapped to life, rushing across the open area of the field and cutting through him like a knife. He had left his scarf and hat in the locker room, and although he was wearing the fleecy pants he had left in his locker on Monday, his upper half was still achingly bare compared to his peers. Riku and Sora darted him guilty looks in their nice, thick jackets, zipped up to their chins. Demyx couldn't deny his envy of them, but there was just no point in it. He glumly figured he'd probably be old and grey before he got to enjoy a simple thing like  _long sleeves_ again. He glanced down at his tattooed arm, feeling a spike of resentment towards the black marks.

The problem was, he wasn't looking forward to warming up, either. As they drew to a halt in a gaggle in front of Saix – albeit a gaggle with a clear distinction between Demyx, Riku, Sora, and everyone else – he felt his tension rising. Saix was going to make them run again. The last time Demyx had run, it had triggered an immense flashback, with an intensity he hadn't experienced in a while. The fact that he had believed himself to have a knife, and actually  _talked_ about it, made him feel weak at the knees. If it had been anyone other than Zexion who'd heard him, where would he be right now? Would they have just carted him straight back to Hojo as a potential danger to society?

Ugh. This wasn't… this wasn't good.

As Saix started speaking, Demyx touched his right wrist, fingertips tracing the black line of the elastic band. It bought Zexion flashing to mind, and, with some effort and a deep breath, he was able to summon a little of the calm he felt in the man's presence.

"…Good afternoon, seniors." Saix's voice was soft, almost sibilant. The way he was determinedly  _not_ looking at Demyx suggested to the blond that he hadn't recovered from the indignity of their morning meeting with Ansem. "A fine day we're having, wouldn't you say?" Considering the biting chill in the air, and the way everyone but Demyx was huddled into their jackets – even Saix had on a thick sweater – he figured that this was the man's way of getting back at him. This was confirmed when Saix said, "I thought we'd start with stretches today, rather than laps. Your muscles are likely too… cold…" His golden-eyed gaze flickered on Demyx for just the briefest of moments. "…to simply be thrown into such activity all at once. Pair up, and begin."

A ripple passed through the students, who began shifting around, forming pairs amongst themselves. Saix glanced over them with disinterest, until he reached the trio of Demyx, Riku and Sora, who stood uncertainly in place. His gaze sharpened on the other two. "I said,  _pair up._ I expect you to follow my instructions, boys."

"Can we be a threesome?" Sora asked, hopefully. Saix gave his head the faintest of impatient shakes, long hair swishing around his shoulders.

"If that were the case, I'd have said so, wouldn't I?" His voice abruptly went cold. "Pair up."

"You guys go together," Riku said, already glancing around for someone other than Sora to join with. "I'll choose…" It was rapidly becoming apparent, however, that there was no one else to choose. The numbers were odd, a fact that Saix had likely been aware of when he'd issued the command. Riku gave them a crooked smile. "I'll – go by myself, then." He took a large step sideways, so that he was still next to them but obviously not trying to turn their duo into a trio, and started stretching. Sora huffed an irritated breath, eyeing Saix sharply but otherwise making no objection.

"Sorry…" Demyx's voice was soft. "It should be me, that's what he wants."

"All the more reason not to let it happen," Sora declared, turning to him. "Come on, Dem, let's stretch."

Saix, watching from the other side of the clump of seniors, made an unimpressed expression and lost interest for the moment. Though the difference in height made it a little awkward with the stretching – Demyx and Riku would have been a far better match, but somehow the thought of Sora on his own was too much to bear – the two of them managed, following Saix's curt instructions, his sour voice sounding thin in the blowing wind. Pretty soon, Demyx was shuddering non-stop, unable to keep the shivers down any longer. His skin was rippled with goosebumps, lips peeled back from unconsciously bared, chattering teeth. Sora observed his state with growing alarm.

"Demyx, your hands are like blocks of ice," he worried, as they gripped one another's forearms and pulled back to stretch out biceps and shoulders. "I can feel it  _through_ my jacket!" Demyx would have apologised, but he was trembling too much to get the words out. "Your lips are turning blue!" Sora exclaimed. He loosened his grip on the blond, turning towards Saix, who was ignoring them with an air of smugness that suggested he was every now and then checking on Demyx's condition and knew exactly how badly he was suffering. First, he'd made him run 'til he overheated and had a flashback – this time, he seemed determined to freeze him to death.

As Sora opened his mouth to call out to Saix, to make some sort of complaint, Demyx managed to force out from between his teeth,  _"Don't."_ When the kid blinked and looked at him with those concerned blue eyes, he repeated, quaveringly, "Don't. I'm f-fine. I wouldn't – give him the s-satisfaction."

See, the thing with the cold was that Demyx was already well acquainted with it. If Saix thought he could get to Demyx by making him horrendously cold, he was sorely mistaken. They couldn't spend the entire lesson doing stretches – he'd be moving before too long, and could warm up then. Until that point, this was just like every other time he'd been out and about in Midgar before Sora had started giving him things. Demyx could manage. And maybe, if he got no satisfactory response from it, Saix wouldn't try it again.

Sora looked pained, but reluctantly complied, shutting his mouth again. He contented himself instead with scowling. Over to the side of them, Demyx could see Riku also scowling. He… had to fight a smile, personally. His skin might be cold, but his chest felt a little warmer for having them worrying about him. It almost made him want to laugh – and wouldn't  _that_ have confused Saix. He was, however, just a little bit too freezing cold for that. Just because he was accustomed to it didn't mean he wasn't hurting.

Eventually, as predicted, Saix had no choice but to called the admittedly extended stretching session to a close.  _Demyx: 1. Saix: 0._ Demyx felt a surge of triumph. Saix would have to try harder than  _that_ to beat him down – plus, if he made it  _too_ blatant, Demyx knew he had the ShinRa card to play. And ShinRa had  _clout._

Saix wasn't done just yet, though. "Relays," he announced. "I will apportion you into teams, and you will relay the batons I give you. I will be marking you on your passes specifically, rather than your speed. I'm still considering who to send to the city athletic championships for the academy, so be sure to perform well."

Demyx felt his heart start a slow sink. Saix, eyes on the clipboard in his hands, starting calling out names to go into teams A, B and C. And, sure enough, "Sora – A. Riku, B." The two of  _them_ were split up, no doubt to punish them for having complained. But the worst came when Saix eventually stated, "Demyx – C."

Silently, Demyx cursed. Riku and Sora were the only ones not afraid of him. How was he supposed to pass batons with anyone who was afraid to be within a five-foot radius of him? He wasn't the only one unhappy with the allocation. All of team C seemed to lose a shade of their natural colour. Expressions twisted as he approached them, standing off to one side so as not to frighten them, but aware that it wasn't going to be something he could keep up permanently. Not only that, but… casting his gaze over the others on his team, Demyx couldn't help but notice that they all looked considerably…  _athletic._ There were a couple of the guys who were explicitly  _buff._ The other teams by comparison seemed reasonably ordinary. Had – had Saix purposely put him onto a team of championship hopefuls in order to sabotage them… and turn them actively against him?

"All right, teams. Gather on the track, I will bring your batons." Saix sounded entirely too blithe to not have noticed. It was like he was suppressing his pleasure at the dark looks team C were exchanging, some of them directed Demyx's way as he trailed after them towards the track. In teams B and A, Riku and Sora looked on with helpless frustration. Technically, this wasn't something they could really complain about – so Saix had separated them; so what? Ansem wouldn't give them a second of his time over  _that._

Shit. Saix was a crafty one. So much for him being 'collared'.

On the track, Demyx continued to hang back, bouncing lightly in place to warm himself as they assembled around team captains, who split them into sub-groups for the different sections of the track. The captain of team C was a tall, strong, healthy-looking blond whose name he'd only heard a couple of times – Seifer. The guy didn't look at him until the last possible second, after Saix, who had brought over a bucket containing the batons, laid a hand on his shoulder and murmured something into his ear. Reluctantly, Seifer looked over at Demyx. There was something… unpleasant in his expression as he did so.

Swallowing, Seifer glanced meaningfully at another of the guy's on the team, massive and muscled, who then accompanied him as he came over. They stopped a noticeable distance away. Avoiding Demyx's eyes, choosing to instead squint off to one side as though examining the distant tree-line, Seifer said, "Yeah, okay, so here's what we're gonna do. Mad-worlder, you're first up. I'd rather not have the team waiting on you at the finish line."

"You'd slow us down, you know?" the large guy interjected.

Seifer darted him a silencing look, then met Demyx's gaze for a brief moment. "Are we clear on this? Just – run that first one. And don't fuck up the pass. Some of us actually have a chance at competing in the citywide meet."

 _Damn._ Just as he'd suspected. Numbly, Demyx merely nodded. Seifer turned from him and stalked away, evidently extremely displeased at this festering presence in their midst. It wasn't that he was scared of Demyx, as such – that wasn't exactly the feeling Seifer had given off… but he was definitely agitated. And probably inclined towards hostility. Demyx hadn't had much to do with the guy, but he could more or less sense it by now. His nerves tightened a notch.

Gradually, the students set themselves up around the track, Saix going along the line of first runners with the bucket of batons, handing them out. As he paused beside Demyx, he smiled thinly. Pressing the baton into the blond's hand, he murmured, "Good luck."

And nobody could file a complaint about  _that,_ either,even if it was obvious that the man was laughing on the inside as he said it. Demyx's mouth almost twisted… but he held it in. His face assumed its placid, glass-like composition, and, stymied once again for a response, Saix was forced to move on.

Eventually, they were ready to begin. Saix stood to the side of the track, pulling a cap gun from the baton bucket and holding it up. "Racers, ready," he called. Demyx didn't feel ready in the slightest. Seifer had appointed himself the last runner, which meant that he was a distance behind Demyx on the track, and he could – he could  _feel_ the blond's eyes digging into his spine. Still – it was just a race, right? Demyx just had to run this first little bit, and then he'd be done. There were eight runners in total per team, and while the track was a long one, it was still just a single sprint per runner. Demyx didn't think that would act as a trigger. Still, he couldn't suppress the anxiety that bubbled up, especially when Saix, holding the gun up, seemed to pause for an inordinately long period of time before pulling the trigger, his eyes on the first three, poised runners. It was like he was – deliberately drawing it out.

When the gunshot did come, it startled Demyx badly enough to make him falter. The other two runners were off in a heartbeat – doubtless eager to get as far away from him as they could. As he started forward, trying to keep up, he noticed that they were pulling farther and farther ahead of him… almost like having him behind them was spurring them on.

 _Ugh._ It made his stomach sour. He did his best, but he just couldn't catch up to them; they probably had enough adrenaline in them by now to keep going around the entire track. Instead, he just focused on getting to his goal, the next runner along. He could see the guy up ahead, his head craned around to watch Demyx's approach with a fearful expression. Demyx stretched out with his baton, readying to pass it on… but before he even got there, the kid started running away. Apparently, seeing the mad-worlder huffing towards him was just too much. He turned back only when his team-mates started yelling at him from their various points around the track, doubtless glad to not have to be in his position themselves. Demyx, standing at the finishing point of his run, held out the baton as the kid returned towards him… but as he attempted to pass it on, the second runner snatched his hand back, and it clattered to the ground.

Only after it had rolled a short way from Demyx's feet was the kid able to scoop it up and keep going, leaving the blond feeling dejected in his wake. At the far end of the track, Seifer was practically howling. The second runner, shaken as he was, also fudged the pass-off to the next person along, and before they knew it, the race was over. Team A had won, with B coming in a close second. Team C gave it their all from the third runner on, but they had fallen too far behind.

"Disappointing, Seifer," Saix called lazily from the sidelines. "Can't you control your team better? Having a new-worlder is surely not such a trial. He ran decently enough, even  _if_ he made a terrible pass."

Demyx wrestled down the awful foreboding that sprang to life when Seifer glared furiously over at him, and lowered his head.

"Run again," Saix commanded to the seniors. "I'll be timing this one. And watch those passes. Remember the championship."

Approaching the second runner, Seifer growled something into his ear, Demyx watching the kid turn a shade paler still before shakily nodding. They then returned to their positions around the track, as Demyx stood at the white stripe of the starting line, gripping the sweat-slicked baton firmly. Saix waited several moments, to allow them to prepare, then called, "Racers, ready!"

The gun went off with a crack and a thin puff of smoke, and Demyx this time thrust himself forward as hard as he could, determined to get ahead of the other two this time so as not to give them the fight-or-flight advantage. He managed, barely, to pull ahead.

This time, when he reached the second runner, although the guy looked terrified he remained rooted in place until Demyx was near, starting to run only for momentum until the baton was ready to be passed. Unfortunately, as it did, their hands touched. The kid jolted hard at the contact, and the baton fell to the track, bouncing twice before again rolling away. The kid scrambled for it, while Demyx distantly heard Seifer bellow,  _"Vivi, for fuck's sake!"_

"Language, Seifer!" Saix's mild voice sounded, Demyx was certain, amused. But he couldn't tear his gaze from the pitiful sight of the kid, Vivi, lunging for the baton and stumbling as he started to run. Once again, team C lost. Once again, Saix smugly goaded Seifer, feeding his anger, all the while making sure not to single Demyx out in any way. The guy was just too good at pulling strings.

On their third run, Seifer switched Vivi with someone else, putting the rattled kid as far from Demyx as he could, around the other side of the track. It didn't exactly go any better with the next one, though, or the one after that – no matter who Demyx tried to pass the baton to, none of the others on team C wanted to touch him. They were… they were really, truly frightened of him.

By the time Saix called for them to begin cooling down, Demyx was feeling disheartened. It was like getting to know people like Sora and Riku and Axel had lulled him into a false sense of security, given him the faintest hope that maybe he could fit in, after all. This, though… it had been a real eye-opener. He was an ogre to the people of Midgar, and it was going to take longer than a week and a half of perfect behaviour to change their minds. He tried to cling to that, to the fact that it still hadn't been all that long; maybe they just needed… more time. He sure as hell had a lot more time to spend here. He wondered, though, if by graduation anything much would have changed.

Oh, well. Do what you can, he glumly supposed.

As the teams disbanded, and the seniors began their final stretches, Demyx was finally able to return to the relative comfort and safety of Sora and Riku's company. He noticed that there was more of a space around them than ever. Having Demyx running in their midst had actually made everyone that bit more wary of him, and that wasn't even Saix's doing. Even Seifer, for all his anger over the failure of his team to perform as a direct result of Demyx's presence, didn't have the nerve to approach him directly to chew him out. Instead, he seemed to aiming that ire at easier targets, not the least of which was the first runner who'd set the tone, Vivi. Demyx felt sorry for the kid.

At long last, Saix dismissed them, and the school day drew to a close. It had been exhaustingly long; they all tended to be, but it never failed to sap Demyx's strength each and every time. The worst part was that he still had so much left to do before he could collapse on his beaten-up green sofa. Auron would be arriving soon, was maybe even waiting for him already outside the gates, and then he had an afternoon of Lucrecia to look forward to. Ugh. All he really wanted right now was a nap and maybe some potato chips.

But, the good news, at least, was that he'd got through a session of running without the onset of any further flashbacks. And that really  _was_ good news, not to mention a massive relief. As Demyx headed back towards the locker room, he was a confused mixture of feelings both positive and negative. He wondered if that would ever level out.

He wished he could drag his feet a little, take his time so that the locker room would be emptier before he had to face it, but with the Lucrecia appointment looming, and a bus to catch, he didn't have the luxury for once. Taking a deep breath, he steeled his nerves as they approached the door. Even with Sora and Riku flanking him, though, nothing could take away the threatening sting of so many sets of male eyes digging into him the second he was through the door. It was only for an instant, before they all simultaneously turned away, but it turned his blood cold. The distracted chatter that had filled the echoing space died, until there was nothing but the rushed rustle of clothes being swiftly changed.

Demyx kept his head down, went to his locker and took out his things. As he closed it, he noticed that the occupant of the locker to his left was the kid who'd kept dropping the baton – Vivi, he recalled. He was changing as fast as he could, but his obvious fear was making him clumsy. He kept getting his arms stuck in his sweater.

Demyx sucked his lips for a moment, then hesitantly turned to the kid. Not entirely sure what he was doing, but just… trying to – ease his terror a little, to do  _something,_ he hesitated, then softly said, "Um…" He did his best to make his voice as gentle as possible. Even so, the kid flinched visibly, seeming frantic now in his hunt for his sleeves. Fretful at his obvious distress, Demyx went on, "It's okay. I won't hurt you." Vivi's eyes were wide, his gaze fixed straight ahead on the grey metal of his locker, one hand finally finding a sleeve and thrusting through, the other straining to do to the same. Feeling Riku and Sora, and possibly a few others, watching now, he tried one more time – if he could only get this  _one person_ to fear him just a little less… "You don't need to be afraid of me," he quietly promised.

An arm stabbed between them, a fist slamming into Demyx's closed locker with enough of a bang to make both Demyx and Vivi jump back. Demyx turned his head with a pounding heart to find Seifer glaring at him. "Wh…"

Riku barked, "Seifer! What the hell?"

His gaze burning into Demyx, Seifer said, "Don't you listen to his crap, Vivi. You just keep being afraid. Fear's a survival technique. It keeps us from taking unnecessary risks."

Demyx bit down on the soft inner flesh of his lips, averting his gaze from the piercing certainty in the other teen's. Seifer was about the same size as Demyx vertically, but with a muscular build and a swagger that Demyx couldn't hope to ever mimic. His presence was oppressive.

"Finish changing, Vivi," Seifer commanded, without shifting his gaze from Demyx. "Wouldn't want you to spend too long around this monster and end up poisoned."

Demyx's heart jumped slightly at the mention of that word –  _poisoned –_ and it seemed he wasn't the only one to take notice of it. Sora stepped over, demanding, "What was that? What did you just say?"

Seifer sneered over at him, "Want to make something of it, you little freak?"

Riku, the only one of them who actually had some height on Seifer, took his cue and also moved closer, expression calm but voice containing a dark tension. "I wouldn't go calling him that, if I were you."

Seifer's disparaging look turned itself upon Riku, but with a hint of wariness now. "Oh, right, because if I make  _you_ mad, I make half of Midgar mad, right? Bet you wouldn't be so tough if you didn't have all those albino relatives scattered around the place."

"And I bet you wouldn't be so tough if you didn't have Rai watching your back," Riku countered, gesturing his head towards the hulking guy who kept following Seifer around. Demyx hadn't noticed him – when he glanced over his shoulder, his eyes widened as he found the guy standing almost directly behind him, a 'safe' distance away but evidently ready to back Seifer up. His chest throbbed harder than ever. This encounter was one or two harsh words away from ending up as some kind of brawl. The entire locker room had stopped to watch.

Seifer was scornful. "Would  _you_ face off against a mad-worlder without some backup?" He leered a little at Demyx's bruised face. "Even  _if_ he already looks like someone got a few good hits in."

"Riku wouldn't need to," Sora shot back, "because he's a hell of a lot fucking  _smarter_ than you, and realises that Demyx isn't even  _close_ to being a danger."

Seifer let out a loud, derisive,  _"Ha!"_  then looked Sora up and down contemptuously. "Yeah, well, don't blame  _me_ if you end up with your face being eaten off when this monster decides he's hungry." He glanced at Demyx as he spoke. Despite the warning of his words, he didn't look afraid of having  _his_ face eaten off. It was more said for the benefit of ones like Vivi, who trembled at the idea.

Vivi wasn't the only one. Demyx was trembling, too.

However, with Riku apparently ready to defend both Sora and Demyx, and Sora filled with vigorous, righteous anger on Demyx's behalf, Seifer seemed to feel himself outnumbered. Even with a locker room full of guys to potentially back him up, he didn't seem willing to take on the mad-worlder when he had allies, even with Rai at his side. His sneer intensified, arm dropping from Demyx's locker.

"Are you fucking  _done?"_ he demanded over his shoulder, to Vivi. The kid nodded sharply. Seifer levelled one final, burning look at Demyx, then turned, slinging his backpack over one shoulder, and sauntered away. Rai and Vivi followed closely, and with a bang of the door, Seifer was gone.

Demyx let out a tightly held breath, abruptly weak with relief. Sora placed a hand on his arm, asking worriedly, "Are you okay?"

Feebly, the blond nodded. He looked at the things in his hands – his bag, his clothes – and realised that, after all that, he still needed to change clothes. He did so with jerky motions, the locker room emptying out as he struggled to control his shaking hands. Riku and Sora stood either side of him the entire time, watching the other young men leave the room, seeming to be standing guard of Demyx in his rattled state. He appreciated it. He didn't think that anyone would try anything, not with the tinder of Seifer's presence absent, but… but he just didn't want to be alone. Not right now. That had been – frightening. It was bad enough having confrontations out in the city, but here, in the school… he had to keep coming back. If things became aggressive towards him, he didn't know what he'd do. Didn't know how he was supposed to handle that.

Finally, he managed to tug his hat on, Sora nodding with approval at the end product. Demyx felt warmer, at least, with his hat and scarf back on. They were the last ones in the locker room by this point, a new worry bubbling up in Demyx as he glanced around. "Damn it," he muttered. Then, to Sora and Riku, he hesitantly said, "Um – thanks, guys. For all your help this afternoon. I appreciate it. I have to get going, though, my guardian's going to be waiting for me. I – I didn't mean to take so long…"

Sora waved him off. "It's no problem, Dem. Go! Get outta here, you crazy kid." He hesitated. "Oh, when I say 'crazy', I don't mean…"

Demyx huffed a small laugh. "It – it's okay, Sora. I know. Thanks. I'll see you guys tomorrow." He gave them each a somewhat timid smile, then turned and got going. His bag bouncing against his thigh, he pushed the locker room door open and hurried through the school at a jog, aiming for the front gate, where Auron would doubtless impatiently be waiting.

Along the way, he caught sight of Zexion across the quad, carrying a bundle of files in his arms, and… pretty much the last person Demyx felt like seeing right now. When the man noticed him, he balanced the files on one arm, lifting a hand and calling the blond's name – but Demyx merely smiled tightly, gave him a short wave, and kept going. It was good to have a reason to not stop.

Zexion would likely about the afternoon's events through Sora and Riku, and would probably want to talk about it. He wasn't going to be happy about Seifer's involvement, and Demyx was going to have to tug him down from his high horse when the time came, explain to him that this was just how the world  _worked_ for him right now.

But until then… until then, Demyx had enough on his mind, without having to worry about Zexion as well.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Demyx slowed to a quick walk as he reached the crowd of students leaving by the front gates, short of breath from his jog across campus. Sure enough, he caught a glimpse of red just outside the academy property – Auron waited, a hand tucked into his robes, his bearing holding just a hint of tension, suggesting to Demyx they needed to haul ass to the bus station.

He hurried to the man’s side, ducking where necessary between students who didn’t notice him, but otherwise finding a passage opening up for him, allowing for a quick exit. He ignored the searing, frightened looks and forced a bright smile as he reached Auron. “Heya! Sorry to keep you waiting!”

The man turned his one-eyed gaze onto him, eyebrow raised. “Actually, I’m impressed you remembered I was coming. I expected to have to waylay you as you came out. You surprised me, running over the way you did.”

Demyx blinked, scratched the back of his head. “Ah, yeah, I was having a, uh, conversation with someone and it just hit me all at once. I’d forgotten until then. Good thing, otherwise you’d have been waiting for a while!”

Auron’s gaze narrowed slightly at the abrasive forced cheer in the blond’s voice. He knew it well, but also knew better than to question it. He glanced at his wristwatch. “Okay. Let’s go.”

They started walking, silent at first as they made their way through the after-school crowds. Auron’s steps were steady, the heaviness of each footfall a comfort to Demyx as he concentrated on keeping up with each long stride. Auron was always so – so _calm,_ so collected. It made Demyx feel wistful; he couldn’t ever imagine being as together as that. Even before his world had gone to hell and he’d arrived at Midgar, he’d never been as steady as Auron. The guy just _radiated_ stability. That was probably what made him so good at what he did; with his placid yet somehow forbidding presence close by, Demyx never felt at risk. And after the week Demyx had had so far… he needed this. He needed a little bit of security, for once.

After a while of walking, Auron asked, facing straight ahead, “How was your day?” It was asked mildly, disinterestedly, like he was making conversation. But Auron wasn’t the type for idle conversation; everything he said had purpose behind it. Otherwise, he stayed silent.

Demyx considered the question, wearily. Wasn’t he going to have to go through all this with Lucrecia, anyway…? “Tiring,” he truthfully answered. “Long.”

Auron gave him a brief, searching look. “You look it,” he remarked, at length. “Tired.” After a few more steps, he asked, “How’s the pain?”

Demyx looked down at himself, at the scabbed-over scrapes on his forearms, knowing that his face still looked like a mess. Even Seifer had commented on it. He was glad that it hadn’t given him any ideas about adding to the palette of fading but still prominent blues, greens, and emerging yellows. “It hasn’t been bothering me. The worst is over. It’s not comfortable, but…”

“Manageable,” Auron concluded, sounding satisfied with such a response. If there was anything Auron expressly approved of, it was stoic pragmatism. The one person who _wouldn’t_ approve of such an attitude was Lucrecia. He would have to tailor his response accordingly. If Demyx acted in a way that reminded her of Auron, she’d get annoyed. Demyx was learning to behave how people wanted him to; it made life a lot easier when he did.

It was a fifteen minute walk to the bus station from the academy, the blond feeling worn out already after all the running he’d done during gym. He could smell the perspiration clinging to his skin, and hoped that it wasn’t too strong. He wished he’d had time for a quick shower before leaving the school – not that he could actually face the idea of stripping off in public. Locker room woes were nothing new, but uh, being naked in that place was just one extra level of vulnerability he wasn’t willing to voluntarily embark upon. He would just have to smell ripe every now and again.

They reached the station, Auron leading the way onto the bus, since having Demyx just pop up out of nowhere tended to startle people. Although the vehicle was starting to fill up, a seat opened up as if by magic when the duo appeared, the tattoos on the blond’s left arm blazing a trail through the clog of people. As usual, Demyx sat by the window, Auron a shielding presence at his side, protecting him from the aisle. Thinking back on the woman who’d slapped him on Monday, Demyx knew that people like that could strike at any time. He didn’t blame them – honestly, he didn’t – but it still wasn’t any fun.

As the bus rumbled into motion, Demyx stared pensively out the long window at the shifting city, finally given some space to catch his breath and collect his thoughts. He had to try and figure out what to say to Lucrecia; usually, he had longer to sort his head out before a session with her. The fact that he’d forgotten about this until practically the last minute left him teetering on the back foot. She’d be expecting a substantial report from him, expecting some kind of _progress,_ and so much had happened just since Saturday that it was almost dizzying to try and get it all straight.

The thing that stuck foremost in his mind was the prospect of having to get a job. That was definitely the urgent matter he needed to discuss with her. Auron had done his best, it seemed, but hadn’t achieved a reprieve for Demyx; so his only real hope left was Lucrecia.

He struggled to remember the conversation with Zexion, the advice that the man had given him for this meeting. The problem was, when he started thinking about Zexion and their lunch together… he started to get a prickling feeling at the back of his neck that _maybe_ he’d said a few unnecessary things. Like, blurting out that he was gay and then just rambling about it. Rambling in general. Oh, God.

“Demyx, you’re turning pink.”

Auron’s observation wasn’t helping.

“Just warm,” he said, voice a little on the high side as he determinedly didn’t look over at the man. “Lots of people on the bus. Unexpected hot flush.”

Auron grunted slightly at that. Yes, the bus’s heating was on, and yes there were a lot of people… but Demyx didn’t have _sleeves._ Being overly warm wasn’t an affliction he often complained about. Still, the man wasn’t interested enough not to press him. Turning pink wasn’t going to constitute a security threat to anyone else on the bus.

Demyx closed his eyes and took a breath. _Relax… it’s okay… Zexion wouldn’t care about that stuff… he was fine at the time…_ He wrestled his thoughts back to the more urgent concern, smothering his belated embarrassment and concentrating on the content of _Zexion’s_ words rather than his own. What he needed to do was be clear with Lucrecia – very clear. He had to make her understand that he wasn’t ready for a step like employment… not to mention having to see Hojo. If anyone could, or was going to, help him, it was her.

…If she was able.

The bus eventually deposited Demyx and Auron outside the psychiatric hospital, Demyx feeling that familiar swooping sensation in his stomach at the sight of it. Along with that came a tingle of nerves, but he was prepared, and determined. He had to at least try.

Leaving Auron behind on the ground floor, he travelled up to the locked ward, Vincent on duty as per usual in the nurses’ station. Demyx was given a temporary nametag and buzzed through, his pace rapid as he made his way stiffly along the corridors to Lucrecia’s office.

She had glasses on, writing carefully in a folder when Demyx knocked and entered. Lifting her head, she smiled automatically, gesturing him in with a gentle wave of her hand. “Demyx, it’s good to see you.” When, a few seconds later, she registered the state of his appearance, the smile dropped. “Oh,” she uttered quietly, and in that one sound he heard sadness and shock. She’d known, of course, about what happened. Auron would have had to tell them all. But hearing about it and seeing it were evidently two different things; Lucrecia looked stricken at the sight of his myriad bruises.

“It’s not as bad as it seems,” he quickly said, before she could comment. “They’ve healed up some, and the pain’s not terrible.”

Lucrecia sighed deeply, her mouth sagging at the corners, expression heavy. Again, she gestured to him, more tiredly this time. “Take a seat, Demyx.”

As he closed the door, she lowered her pen. When she didn’t then shuffle around for anything else on her desk, or close the file she’d been writing in, Demyx realised with a thread of unease that she’d been working on _his_ file. He hadn’t even been here yet, and she’d been writing something. Was that bad or good? He felt the muscles in his neck and shoulders tighten.

He drew back the chair in front of her desk and sat down. Lucrecia took a long moment to absorb his appearance, before shaking her head, tugging off her glasses and placing them on the desk. “Oh, Demyx.” It was said softly, helplessly. “How are you? This must have been a rattling experience.”

“Oh, well, sure, I guess.” Demyx fidgeted, fingernails picking at the rough fabric of his bag. “But, you know, it wasn’t unexpected. And the damage wasn’t – wasn’t _too_ bad. Just some scrapes and bruises. I’ve been beaten up before.” Albeit not by people who loathed him with quite the aggression of Midgar dwellers. That part had been a little more frightening.

“It’s a shame that the perpetrators weren’t brought to justice,” Lucrecia said, with uncharacteristic sharpness. It didn’t last long, however. She shook her head, her high ponytail swaying faintly, and for a moment simply looked sad. “It will get better.” She sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as she was Demyx. “It _has_ to.” Helplessly, for lack of anything else to do, Demyx shrugged. He then stiffened as Lucrecia asked, “Do you feel angry towards the ones who attacked you?”

“Oh, no! Not at all!” Demyx was quick to wave the notion away, experiencing a spark of panic as he did so. He could feel his pulse suddenly jumping at his throat. “I mean, I’m sure if the shoe was on the other foot, I’d have wanted to do the same sort of thing – not, not that I’ve ever actually _attacked_ anyone, or ever would, it’s not in my nature, never has been, I would never…” His words became a hurried jumble, then abruptly stopped. He laced his fingers nervously together, clearing his throat, acutely aware of her gaze on him. “No, ma’am. I’m not angry. It’s to be expected.”

She nodded slightly. “I suppose that’s true. It’s good that you don’t harbour resentment.”

“No, ma’am,” he quickly confirmed, watching her for signs of scepticism. Lucrecia, however, took him at his word. She did not appear suspicious, and as she continued, he exhaled the slightest breath of relief.

“Well, as much as I would like to focus on this one event at greater length, for now we’ll have to postpone it.” She adjusted her glasses, grimacing as she glanced down at the file on her desk. “Now, about this employment issue…”

Ah – so that’s what that file was about. Demyx felt a confusing mix of relief and concern. It was good to know she wasn’t writing strange things about him, but – _employment._

“Ah, about that –”

Before he could go on, she interrupted, “I’m sorry, Demyx. There’s no getting around it.”

He stared with ill-suppressed horror. She was his only hope, and she was shutting him down before he could even get going. “No, Lucrecia, please wait – please, just hear me out…”

She said patiently, but firmly, “Demyx, I understand that this must be a frightening prospect for you –”

 _“Frightening?_ How about – how about terrifying?” He gripped the lip of the desk and leaned inward, gazing desperately into her sympathetic face. “Lucrecia, you don’t understand – I can’t _do_ this. It’s way too soon. It’s way too _much._ I’m – I’m still just learning how to _be_ in this world, and I was enrolled in the school just a week and a bit ago. How can anyone think I’m ready for a _job_ all of a sudden?”

“Demyx – Demyx, hush.” She made a dampening motion with her hands, the blond sucking his lips into his mouth as he realised how excited he was getting. He made a concerted effort to settle down, but Lucrecia wasn’t making it easy as she went on, “I understand your concerns, but there is simply no way around it. It’s not a rule I made, and neither is it one I can argue against. Sir Auron tried, and I commend him for that effort, but ShinRa is quite explicit that six weeks is long enough for a ward of the company to benefit from financial aid. Your stipend is being cut, Demyx, and if you don’t work to supplement it, and start paying back the money ShinRa has loaned you to date, you simply won’t survive.”

“But… but…” _But that’s not fair! But I never asked for ShinRa’s help, or their money! But how will I survive in a workplace?_ All thoughts that flitted through his head, none of which he had the nerve to say. In the end, all he could do was plead, “But isn’t there any other way? I have this teacher at the school who said it might take my focus away from my studies…”

“What’s that? You’ve been discussing ShinRa business with an outsider?” Lucrecia frosted over. “Demyx, you know that’s frowned upon. You shouldn’t be talking about this sort of thing with outsiders. And anyway, who does this teacher think they are? They’ve no knowledge of our rules or workings. I myself believe you fully capable of juggling both work and studies, and if I believe that, a mere schoolteacher has no place saying otherwise. Who is this teacher? What’s their name?”

Demyx gulped and looked away, alarmed by her sudden interest in Zexion. “N-no, nothing, it doesn’t matter who he is – I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, I didn’t even mean to mention anything.” He glanced down at his tangled fingers, fidgeting as he spoke. “I was just worried about the whole… job thing, and he noticed and asked, but it’s just because he’s trying to be supportive of me…” He darted an anxious look up at Lucrecia. “I won’t make that mistake again, he’s nobody important enough for you to bother about. Really.”

She sighed a little, conscious of his concern. “…Well, I suppose I can let it slide. I’m pleased that you have a supportive teacher, but please, refrain from discussing internal matters with him, or anyone else other than myself, Auron, or Professor Hojo.”

Demyx nodded firmly. “Absolutely. Yes, ma’am. It won’t happen again.”

“And as for the job – there’s no changing it. This is how it is.” The sternness that had overcome her face at the mention of Zexion’s interference softened at the sight of Demyx shrinking into his chair. Her voice gentle, she said, “I’m sorry, Demyx.”

He closed his eyes, took a slow, deep breath, and nodded. “Right. I see.” His tone was light. “If that’s how it is, then that’s how it is.”

“I heard from Auron that you’re already aware of the place you’ll be working?”

Forcing his eyes back open, keeping as cheery a tone as possible, he answered, “Yep, yep. We go there for coffee all the time. It’s as nice a place as any.”

Lucrecia stared at him for a long moment, her pity palpable. Demyx felt like he was smothering all of a sudden – pity did him no good. Pity was nothing but trouble. Pity from others made him think that maybe it was okay to feel pity for himself, and self-pity right now would… it would tear him apart.

“So!” The sudden volume of his voice jolted them both, out of place in the room and conversation. “Whatever happened to me getting to wear sleeves?”

The abrupt subject change appeared to confuse Lucrecia. “Oh – that again?”

“Well, it’s still winter, and I’m still freezing my ass off!” Demyx gritted his teeth as soon as he said it – it sounded sarcastic, he could hear it. He had to rein it in. “Uh, that is – I was really hoping for permission so that the cold doesn’t get to me like it does.”

Lucrecia touched her fingertips together, thinking for a moment. “I’ve discussed the issue both with my superiors and with Sir Auron. He became reasonably passionate on the topic, in fact – it seems that you’ve been suffering with the low temperatures lately.” Demyx nodded a little, grateful to Auron. “It has been left to my discretion to decide, with the awareness that any failure on your part to follow protocol reflects directly on me.” She said this part soberly, Demyx feeling his heart sink – until she smiled. “Very well, Demyx. But I have conditions.”

Demyx could have cheered – _sleeves!_ Real clothes! _No more cold!_ “Yes! Of course!”

“No heavy coats – nothing that runs the risk of obscuring your tattoos. What this means is that you may wear form-fitting items, such as thermals or close-fitting sweatshirts, with the proviso that you shear the left sleeve off from the shoulder.” Demyx nodded eagerly. “Also, you may wear vests over the top to insulate your core, so long as they do _not_ overlap your shoulder in any way.”

“They won’t!” He was breathless with excitement. “I promise!”

Lucrecia huffed a small laugh. “Well, then – at least that’s a piece of good news, isn’t it?”

The tension of Zexion’s involvement in ShinRa affairs was all but forgotten by the woman, Demyx feeling able to relax a little throughout the rest of the session. Although the conversation veered back towards the subject of the job, now that he knew there was no avoiding it, he stoically took part in discussing with Lucrecia hypothetical situations and his plans for how to cope with the new strain in his life. There was no point in arguing further, and he didn’t want to incur her wrath on Zexion again. Disheartened though he was about the employment idea, the fact that he was going to be _warm_ for once was currently overshadowing any doubts or fears he might have felt. Those would come later.

Encouraged as he was by Lucrecia’s agreeability over his clothing situation, and her satisfaction with his current obedience, Demyx ventured, as the session was coming to a close, “Say – Lucrecia?”

“Yes, Demyx.” She was gathering the various papers on her desk together, to slide into his file and into a drawer.

“I was wondering – is it all right if I start a journal?”

She blinked, looking up doubtfully over her glasses at him. “A journal? Of your current experiences?”

“N-no, I don’t really… need to write all that stuff down.” Demyx had no desire to keep a record of his life – it was kind of hard enough just living it, without having to scribble it all down later. “Actually, I was wondering if it’s okay if I… if I write about my world.”

Her eyebrows rising, Lucrecia sat back a little, looking thoughtful. “Your world, you say…?”

“Not – not the bad stuff. Or, like, not the… recent stuff.” He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his skin prickle. “Just – the things I remember. The things that are… gone now. Like, the animals. And the instruments. And some of the places, and, and the stuff I know about its history.” He licked his lips, met her gaze plaintively. “It’s just… if I don’t, it’s all going to be lost, isn’t it? I know you can’t tell me about other – other survivors, but I don’t know if anyone else will think of it. And even if they do, they might remember different things to me. I just… don’t want it to be completely lost. Or – or remembered completely badly. Does that – make sense? Or sound okay…?”

The pity was back on Lucrecia’s face, but rather than the refusal he was half expecting, she inclined her head in approval. “Very well. I’ll have to keep an eye on its contents, if that’s all right with you, but otherwise I see no problem. Just – be careful, Demyx. Don’t write anything down that might reflect poorly on you.”

With a rush of gratitude, he agreed readily. “Of – of course. I’ll show it to you as much as you want, and I won’t – make myself look bad, or, or crazy or anything. I just – thank you.” He beamed at her, Lucrecia smiling in return.

As he left her office and made his way back to the hospital entrance, Demyx was practically walking on air. He was allowed clothes, _and_ a journal. This was like an overload of good things. When Auron saw him emerge from the elevator, he looked almost startled at the change in his ward’s bearing, Demyx half-giggling at the surprise on his usually passive face.

Bad things were happening, bad things happened all the time. He was sore where he’d been beaten up, and he still had to get a job, and see Hojo this coming weekend, and deal with school crap and life crap and the loss of his world and _the guilt…_

But hell. At least he’d be warm.

 


End file.
